When they turn around towards the direction of the voice, they recognize Vatenguerre, who is hiding from the morning rain under a tarpaulin. He gives the characters a comradely look. "Did you enjoy the spectacle?" he asks in amusement. Finally, they will get some answers. The characters may go under the tarp and question the Preservist. "Yesterday? The creature at the harbor? It’s something new. We don’t know what it is. However, it’s aquatic and extremely dangerous. Vega, our Epigeneticist, is trying to decode the salvaged material," he says worriedly. "We are here because of a premonition. The sixth Chakra is about to blossom. Our mission is secret, not even our Cult knows about it." He leans over to the characters with his fingers spread and begins to clarify the situation. "Back then, you remember that thing in Bayonne. You did a good job there. Without you, our commanding officer wouldn’t have survived. We need help again, serious help!" He makes sure that everyone is listening carefully. "The Anabaptists are hiding something in the city. They call it Starfire. We believe that it is pure Primer matter. We know it is here, but we don’t know where. You must mingle with the Anabaptists and inform us of its whereabouts so we can act." He lets out a deep breath, then he takes his black knife and knocks the steel against a wooden wall. "This is not about you or about me or the motives of individual Cults. This is about everything. The Anabaptists are keeping something from us that will enable us to save humanity. Not even the Spital supports our mission because nobody wants to risk political alliances." If the characters ask Vatenguerre about Malinesse, he smiles cynically. "A goddamn drone brought us here. Can you imagine that? Some chemical reaction in her brain drew her here, just like a salmon floating upstream to its spawning grounds. She is a human truffle pig. Nothing more." Then he turns back to his destination. "We cannot be amongst the Anabaptists without attracting attention to ourselves, which makes it impossible to infiltrate their inns. However, I am sure the information is out there in L'Arc in the Flask or in the Empty Jug. Rub shoulders with the fanatics and listen. Help us retrieve the Starfire before it’s too late for us all." He moves backward along the wall and slowly disappears into a nearby alleyway, his parting words to them: "I'll find you when the time comes." . BLACK ATLANTIC 151
III. SEPARATE WAYS After Vatenguerre's appearance, it is clear that in Brest, there are more secrets than meets the eye. The characters have countless leads, but still see no clear lines that connect the dots. They must carry out the investigations themselves, if they are to uncover the secrets buried here. a What are the sixth Chakra and the Starfire all about? How can they get more information about them? a What role does Yasen the Merciful play in the whole affair? a Where does King Oppolus stand in this matter and where do his loyalties lie? a Where did Malinesse disappear to? Why did she lead the Spitalians to Brest? a Does it have something to do with Garlene and her symptoms? a What is going on with the oil platforms in the Atlantic? a What is the story with the Neolibyan and why is he searching for the artifacts? a Is someone still trailing the characters? a Where did the near-field phenomenon of the previous evening come from? The questions become more specific, but the answers remain unclear. The characters can either follow their hunches or continue following the course of the story. SCENE 05: RETURN TO L'ARC If the characters take the road leading to the Southeast, they will inevitably pass a sloping embankment. A small trail leads to a wide field surrounded by a high fence. From their vantage point, they can see dozens of dogs barking from within a fenced courtyard. The dogs are following a man who is carrying several puppies in his arms. If the characters approach him, they will hear the old man mournfully mumbling into his beard. "What a shame," says the man as he sighs through the chain-link fence. "Just fell over dead last night. Seven down." His voice is weak. The wind blows his gray curls across his face. Gently, he places the dead puppies in a small hollow while the other dogs jump around nervously and let out high-pitched whines. They push their snouts through the fence and lick the characters' fingers. A gray-haired woman joins the elderly man, wrapped in a dense sealskin winter jacket. As she helps her husband bury the puppies, she notices the characters. "We raised them like our children. Some of them don’t have litters anymore, and the bloodstock gets smaller with each passing year," she says wistfully. If the characters ask how the puppies died, the man will simply shrug. "It started sometime after midnight. The dogs began to howl like crazy and roll in the grass. All hell broke loose in the Compound." I. THE BRAGGART "Corentin! How much do you want for one of your dogs? Have you changed your mind since we talked last week?" A neatly dressed young man leans over the fence of the enclosure, grinning like a shark. His pea-green shirt contrasts his umber-colored skin and a gilded fang dangles ostentatiously from his earlobe. "Even if you could gather up the ten thousand Drafts, we wouldn’t sell you any of our dogs!" the old woman immediately steps in. Hearing such a sum should send the characters' blood pressure skyrocketing. Ten thousand Drafts for a dog? "Come on, Maelle, the dogs aren’t worth that much! I told you, I’ll buy one for two thousand, tops," mocks the popinjay. Corentin straightens himself and stomps over to the fence. "Stop right there, SoufiCONNECTIONS The story should make the characters suspicious. The time of death of the puppies coincides with the fluctuation of currents on Parel's island. Could this be a lead? A Combination on INT+Artifact Lore (4) and INT+Medicine (3) will reveal the link. SUCCESS, NO TRIGGER: The impulse of the near field originated within city limits. Perhaps, the static magnetic field affected the dogs. Animals tend to be much more susceptible to electromagnetic interference. 1 TRIGGER: If the antenna sent, in addition to the wave, a tone in a frequency that is inaudible to humans, that could explain the behavior of the dogs. Maybe, a dog could even be trained to find the source of the signal. 3+ TRIGGER: An autopsy of the puppies' eardrums would provide conclusive evidence as to whether acoustic reasons were the cause for their sudden death. However, the old couple would never agree to it. Theirs is a glaring grief.
ane! Seven of our puppies died tonight. Do you know how to raise and train a dog? Do you have any idea how rare dogs are? Why don't you sell the Africans a mangy gendo, they wouldn’t notice the difference anyway!" "Don’t be so upset, old man. You don't seem to be short on clients." He looks dashingly in the direction of the characters and struts toward them, puffing his chest. "Seriously, the mutts aren’t worth the gold ..." he whispers loud enough for the elderly couple to hear. Maelle throws a lump of dirt over the fence, and the young man jerkily jumps aside in order to avoid it. "Ha! That's a good way to scare off respectable customers, you old trout," he answers with a cheeky grin exposing two rows of pearly white teeth. In the next moment, he crouches down next to the characters and takes a colorful box out of his pocket. He opens the tin case, revealing rolled tobacco leaves. He nods invitingly. "Gentle people, you look as if you are unable to turn down some good tobacco." He does not hesitate to light one himself and blows the blue haze flamboyantly into the air. The man is clearly moonstruck, but his humor and his act are fabulous. He introduces himself as Soufiane, a merchant from Lisbon, always on the lookout for good merchandise. "Do you have anything to offer?" he asks, letting a bundle of rolled Drafts dance between his fingers. Before the characters can answer, rumbling thunder blasts across the city. Suddenly, it begins raining cats and dogs. IN THE SOUP KITCHEN They hurry over to a soup kitchen on a nearby street corner. Soaking wet, they sit down with Soufiane near an open wood fire. The server brings thick blankets of walrus leather to warm them up and takes their orders. "The best the house has to offer and mead for all," Soufiane orders, ignoring the wishes of the characters. "My treat," he casually says, rubbing his hands by the fire. "So, shall we start from the beginning," he commences businesslike. "I have a launch down in the harbor. A fast thing, it is. With it, you can even land in difficult waters." With raised eyebrows, he makes sure that the characters are listening attentively. "I've made three loot tours to Britain, right up to the coast of Brighton. It’s hard to believe how much there’s left to find up there.” He lights his tobacco roll once more. "You have to go in there with a competent group. Just a handful of men, not more. You don’t want to draw too much attention; otherwise, your best friend from next door will turn into a hawk. But let me tell you, the best part is ..." Soufiane exhales, blowing a thick plume of smoke into the face of a character. "No Neolibyans! It’s all for us." If the characters tell him about their encounter with Shamash earlier this morning, Soufiane's face will immediately freeze. "So, the rumor does contain a kernel of truth?" he asks completely baffled. "What does he look like? What is he looking for? Did they send him ahead? Are there others? Where is he?" Soufiane's barrage of questions comes like a bat out of hell. All of a sudden, his serenity vanishes, and he nervously fidgets with his legs. If the characters ask Soufiane what he knows about the artifacts that Shamash is looking for, he will simply shake his head. He has never heard of a star or a disk. "You must do me a favor. I have to know what the Neolibyan is up to. If I find out about his plans in good time, we’ll be able to forestall him. I have many friends among the Scrappers of Saint-Brieuc, all of whom have a score to settle with the raiders of Tripol." If the characters inform him that Shamash is in the West Wind, Soufiane’s ears will perk up. "All right," he says. "We’ll meet there at around seven and look for him. When he shows up, you pressure him for information." If Soufiane's words fail to convince the group, he will beckon them closer. "Folks! I’m a weapons smuggler. I have every caliber you can dream of. I am happy to do my part and pay you well for any business that we do together." DISC AND STAR The characters would do well to carry their possessions with them. The more they get involved in the story, the sooner they realize that there is more to the artifacts in their possession than they thought. Keeping the disc and the star in their chambers while exploring Brest would be a major mistake. Burying them out in the field is not a good idea either. Arnika has long since located the artifacts and is only waiting for the right moment to strike. THE LEOPARD Soufiane does not attempt to hide his disgust for Neolibyans. He denounces their greed and gluttony. However, it is difficult for the characters to see how Soufiane’s ambitions differ from those of the Neolibyan traders. A roll on INT+Legends (4) reveals more. African characters may add their Secrets trait. SUCCESS, NO TRIGGER: The trader does not respect the principles of the Bank of Commerce, that much is for sure. He also does not seem bound to any Magnate, instead working on his own— a rarity for someone from a culture that has produced the world's most successful trading network. 1 TRIGGER: The Neolibyans make enemies wherever they rule and conquer. There is rumor that a conspiracy is under way in Africa. Supposedly, a group is currently working to undermine the position of the Cult of Traders by carrying out acts of economic sabotage in order to weaken the Bank of Commerce. 3+ TRIGGER: The members of this network of saboteurs and independent traders are called Leopards. They act in secret and operate far from the lucrative trade routes in the Mediterranean. Nevertheless, they are a danger that the Neolibyans find difficult to deal with because of the clandestine nature of the network and the fact that its members do not identify themselves as Leopards. BLACK ATLANTIC 153
II. ATTACK! A look outside gives them a clear view. The rain has stopped, but the sky is still leaden. As soon as the characters leave the close quarters at the soup kitchen and step out onto the street, they notice a Chronicler lost in thought wandering through the mud. He has not even bothered to put on his mask or hood and his greasy hair sticks to his face. Using some sort of gauge, he checks something, then looks up at the roofs in surprise. Soufiane is saying goodbye to the characters, when all of a sudden the Chronicler looks at them alarmed. "Get away from that door!" Not a heartbeat later, an explosion shakes the soup kitchen. Smashed wooden struts and bricks tear across the street. A hail of shards, splinters, and shrapnel flies over the characters. Suddenly, the front of the house splits and support beams bend under the weight of collapsing floors. A thick cloud of black ash hisses out onto the street. THE PALER Glowing wood chips sale through the stifling smoke. The characters are caked in ash and surrounded by collapsed debris. The blast has separated them. Every character is at least ten steps away from the next character. Burning logs are smoldering everywhere, and decapitated body parts stick out of the rubble. Getting one's bearings is difficult. The reverberation of the explosion is like a distant thunderstorm in everyone's ears. IN THE NICK OF TIME The Chronicler's warning comes just in time. The characters must succeed in a Combination of PSY+Reaction (4) and AGI+Dexterity (3) in order to find cover at the last second. Otherwise, they will be killed by falling pieces of rubble or the bodies will be riddled with flying shrapnel. Explosive damage (12). Armor does not offer protection.
BLACK ATLANTIC 155 A mechanical humming mixes with the deafening noise. A hooded figure hurries from one cover to the next, a submachine gun at the ready. Phunk! Phunk! Silencer! The bullets strike the ground next to the characters. Dirt fountains spray up all around them. The attacker is nimble, blending in with the environment. He purposely dives towards the character who is carrying Jehammed's star and disc. To their left, the mysterious Chronicler rises from the rubble and stumbles forward into the dense smoke. He wants to help the characters and ignites a charge on his module. Two dozen flickering rays of green light pulsate from his suit and the flashing stripes cut through the curtain of ash and smoke. The hooded man doesn’t take long to answer. The attacker throws a glowing cylinder at the Chronicler. The luminous tube sails through the air and upon impact, bursts with a hissing flash. The characters feel the hair on the back of their necks rise and their muscles tingle. The light show of the Chronicler dies down at once. Electronics owned by the characters also discharge immediately if they are within the blast radius of the electromagnetic pulse. The Chronicler throws himself to the ground, holding his arms protectively over his head. "Damn it! Paler!" Phunk! Phunk! KILLING ZONE Escape is the only chance of survival. The characters must leave the killing zone, where the Paler has the advantage and can easily wear them down. Let the characters jump out from the area and into the fresh air where they can get to safety. Rolls on AGI+Agility are necessary to dodge the hail of bullets and find a suitable cover. The Paler follows them. He tries to isolate the character in possession of Jehammed's artifacts from the rest of the group. The rearguard battle leads them into a side street with the Chronicler. He coughs and gasps as dust trickles from his cloak like flour. "All modules are empty! The Paler got me! My suit is useless!" he exclaims as a warning to the characters. He crouches behind a wall of barrels as Soufiane comes running from the right, panic in his eyes. An ash gray cloud of dirt follows behind him. He throws himself into the cover of a doorway and frantically tries to reload his pistol. "What the hell is going on here?" he asks in a terror-stricken voice. The Paler mercilessly chases them. They see him positioning himself at the end of the alley. He has full cover. "Why are we being attacked?" the Chronicler shouts at the characters, unable to comprehend how he became a target himself. Before they can answer, a bullet hits him, and he lands face-first on the hard pavement. If the characters want to help him, they must leave their cover and rush through the alley, placing them in Arnika's line of fire. The bullet only grazed the Chronicler, but his shoulder is bleeding. "We’ve got to get out of here!" he grates. A Combination of INS+Perception (2) and PSY+Cunning (2) reveals a recessed door that can be knocked open with a wooden beam. Perhaps, they can move through the interior of the building to another street, which will allow them to escape the Paler. ARNIKA'S HUNTING INSTINCT If, during the altercation, the tide turns, giving the characters the upper hand, the Paler will cease his pursuit of them and give ground. He will consider his mission a failure and under no circumstances, will he risk capture much less death. Instead, he will return and inform Helios of the characters' abilities. If the group has a heavy arsenal of trailblazers, hand grenades, or assault rifles, Arnika will not hesitate to retreat. After months of preparation, he knows the nooks and crannies of Brest by heart and can outmaneuver the characters, shaking them off without much effort. However, this brush with the Paler should be a clear sign for the group that they are in the crosshairs of foreign powers. Their motive, however, remains a mystery. THE HALO Arnika is masterfully prepared for his attack. He followed the characters for hours as they made their way from Brotherhood Square to L'Arc. When he sees them entering the soup kitchen, he climbs in through the roof and places his explosive devices in the rafters and at the rear exit. The dense smoke and clouds of ash do not obstruct his view in the least. His Potential allows him to fight without penalty. His mouth filter regulates his breathing and his sun disc functions as both a talisman and transmitter. Wrapped in his black rag coat, he is barely visible among the debris. Only when he dives toward another cover, does he appear like a wavering shadow in front of the thick wall of smoke. The Halo uses all of his advantages in order to emerge from this encounter as the victor. His goal is to procure Jehammed's disc and star. Human lives are the least of his concern and the characters are no exception. He does not necessarily want to kill them; however, if they are too resistant, the Paler will be left with no other choice. Within the killing zone, the characters fight with -6D. If they want to face Arnika, even if only in a somewhat restrained manner, they will first have to flee from the debris field and regroup outside of the fire. OUT OF THE BLUE There must have been a reason for the attack. The characters have not become victims at random. INT+Legends (4) provides information. Chroniclers, Hellvetics and Palers add their Secrets trait to the roll. SUCCESS, NO TRIGGER: The Paler is definitely after the artifacts that the characters have. 1 TRIGGER: The attacker's equipment is enormous and his skills are precise and deadly. He must be a high-ranking Vault Crawler. 3+ TRIGGER: Everything about him screams Halo, a follower of a Sleeper Prophet. But why is he operating in Brest of all places?
SCENE 06: SOUTHWARD The characters go through the adjoining house and come out onto a parallel street. There, they meet people who are trying to reach the collapsed soup kitchen. They offer to help the characters. Hustle and bustle abound to the left and right of them. The Chronicler stumbles. "Have we gotten rid of him?" The characters may take a look around. In the distance, they see a squad of chapel guards approaching rapidly. Soufiane grabs one of the characters by the shoulder. "The Anabaptists will only slow us down. Remember the agreement! Grab the Chronicler and get yourself to safety. I’ll distract the guards. We’ll meet after sunset at the West Wind!" The merchant in the dusty shirt puts his pistol in the hand of the nearest character and makes his way down the street. Waving his arms, he runs towards the chapel guards. "Here, over here! There was a gas explosion! Help me, I’m wounded!" The characters can seize this opportunity to flee through the branched network of roads with the Chronicler. "I have a shed down in the furriers’ quarter. We have to get there. Quick, down the stairs to the jetties," he whispers exhausted and begins to move. The characters hurriedly follow the scraggy man past the east flank of L'Arc and down some stone steps to an artificial peninsula that protrudes into the roadstead. The Chronicler stops at a hut made of tin and rotten wood. He is breathing heavily. "Here we are." He unlocks an intricate security cylinder on the front door and exhausted, drags himself into the hut. I. CONSPIRACY THEORIES A flickering neon tube on the floor illuminates the shed, casting long shadows on the bare walls. Abstruse mathematical formulas, stenographic transcriptions, protocols, drawings of circles, and illegible diagrams cover the walls. The Chronicler falls feebly into a chair. His shoulders slump forward, and a string of saliva dangles from the corner of his mouth. "Ampere," he says, carefully trying to strip off his cloak. If the characters do not understand, he adds, "It’s my name. What are yours?" Carefully and with a worried look, he opens the collar of his Chronicler suit and tries to free his wounded shoulder. "Can you treat this wound?", he asks, visibly nervous. If one of the characters agrees to help the Chronicler, a successful roll on INT+Medicine (1) will tell them that the wound is merely a scratch. The Chronicler is hyperventilating for no reason. If the character tells Ampere that the wound is not dangerous, the Chronicler will instantly collapse in relief and let out a long groan. When the characters ask him about the context of their fateful encounter, his grief vanishes. Immediately he starts to sputter. "Last night, there were fluctuations of currents throughout the city. It was a near field that was triggered by a magnetic pulse. At noon, I tried to triangulate the origin of the field, but it isn’t stationary. The antenna is moving." He says it so quickly that his words almost trip over each other. In one leap, he is on his feet. He scribbles some numbers on the wall with a piece of chalk and turns to the characters, his arms spread wide. "I think something powerful is haunting Brest. It is not the Paler from earlier. Although, I don’t yet know how he fits into the scheme of things. His equipment has no comparable signature." The man jumps frantically towards the window, raises the screen, and looks out. "He didn’t follow us, did he?" he asks with fear in his voice. After making sure nobody is lurking outside of the shack, he runs his hand through his greasy hair. "The only logical conclusion is that a Marauder has a finger in the pie," he says in awe. "Argyre." He lets the name hang in the air, even if the characters are unable to follow his chaotic rant. REVELATIONS Amperes' baffling ramblings are worrisome. Should only half of what he says be true, then the characters and the population of Brest are in grave danger. Marauders are legends. Few people have ever seen one, but stories of their campaigns and reigns of terror are anchored in everyone's collective memory. Nobody knows their intentions, and no one escapes their wrath.
BLACK ATLANTIC 157 A G A I N , F R O M T H E B E G I N N I N G Ampere is thoroughly convinced of his theories, but it is difficult for him to explain them in a coherent manner. The characters must make an effort to wrestle his findings from him, otherwise, the Chronicler will flounder in his blathering. "Last year in Borca, a squad of Preservists wiped out a group of Pictons who had invaded the Western Protectorate. They are Argyre's slave warriors. My job was to crack the conditioning of the captured Pictons. The warriors were calibrated. Brainwashing," he says excitedly. "The interrogation of the Pictons yielded the same pattern again and again. Disc. Star. Spear. However, under the superficial conditioning, another mission was hidden. Helios!" Ampere speaks about his knowledge with such a certainty that he does not pay any attention to whether someone is able to follow him or not. "The data we found on Helios in the Cluster revealed him to be a Sleeper Prophet. He has Palers that obey him and no agenda that aligns itself with that of other Sleepers. However, there’s more ..." Ampere walks alongside his notes on the wall, tapping the stenographic reports. "I placed a query in the static Stream to find clues about the conditioning of the Pictons. In 2588, we intercepted a radio message from eastern Borca, most likely transmitted from one needle tower to another. In that conversation, the Needles discussed an artifact that they referred to as Jehammed's Will. It supposedly consists of three parts: A disc, a star, and a spear." The more Ampere reveals, the more lively he becomes,
carried away by the story’s development yet again. "But it gets even better! 2588 and 2597 both yield the same numerical anagram: 1616. This code has been appearing on switch profiles in the Aquitaine Cluster for weeks." Ampere is frantic. "I pleaded with the Cluster of Aquitaine to help me investigate these phenomena. Nothing! The special unit I requested didn’t show up." Nervously, he chews on his nail bed. "Maybe, their cover was blown. Maybe, someone intercepted my radio messages. A Marauder is definitely involved here!" His gestures become erratic; he does not understand why the Chroniclers are not supporting him in his task. His conspiracy theories continue to multiply. "Maybe, the Cluster was infiltrated. Maybe, they want to get rid of me because I know too much. The whole thing stinks to high heaven. The Paler earlier, did you see him? He's after me!" Ampere's words make less and less sense as he goes on. "I need allies to help me find out what's going on here." He begs the characters to join him. Then he breaks off in the middle of his sentence and points at one of them. "You! Look out of the window to see if everything is all right. You never know!" II. VITAL SIGNS Dusk engulfs the roadstead. The low-hanging autumn sun is a yellow smudge on the distant horizon. Above it, gray and black clouds cover the entire sky. It looks as if a stormy night is approaching. A peek through the window offers a good view of the nearby fur market. Between the stalls, a handful of laborers scurry about. They hang the stretched skins, clean their tools and close their workstations for the day. Have the acting character roll INS+Perception (3) to make sure the coast is clear. If successful, they recognize a familiar figure in the perse evening light: Garlene. Her back is laden with a bulging backpack, the heavy load slowing her pace. She negotiates loudly with a man at one of the workstations. If the characters want to confront Parel's flame and find out more about her condition, they must head out to the peninsula where the furriers are. BEASTLY AND BUGGED As soon as the characters approach the open area, they hear Garlene protesting from afar. "Of course, I can work! I’ve been working hard my whole life!" followed by, "No, I'm not sick! It’s just a flu, furrier. No reason to worry. I can sew, stretch, and skin. No matter what you give me, I can do it well." The furrier eyes her skeptically. "What's wrong with your arm, Scrapper? Does it have the flu, too?" She looks around anxiously and suddenly notices the characters. She rolls her eyes in annoyance. "You all are just what I need! Did Parel send you to beg me to come back to the workshop?" she accusingly asks them. "Forget it! I'm not going back to that island! That horny prick can look for another helper." Garlene has clear intentions. She never does anything half-assed. Completely shaken by the characters' presence, she collects her stuff and puts on her backpack. With INS+Perception (2), one of the characters notices the furrier's son. The boy is not even sixteen winters old. He is pale as chalk and hides behind his father, seeking protection in his shadow. His eyes are red and his short black hair makes his jug ears even more pronounced. He gazes up at Garlene as if mesmerized. What is wrong with the boy? Is he in love? The character who picked up Vega's display hears a sudden beep coming from their vest pocket. A quick glance at it reveals a point that is moving towards them. Distance: 300 meters to the south. When the character tries to inform the group, Garlene interrupts him. "Parel is as ridiculous as the idiots who he surrounds himself with." Suddenly, there is a throaty growl. The furrier's son jumps across the workbench ENLIGHTENMENT Eventually, the characters will have to decide whether to trust Ampere and admit to him that they have Jehammed's disk and star. If they show the Chronicler their find, his eyes will beam with excitement. "That's why the Paler attacked us," he says anxiously. His fingers trace the symbols and engravings on the artifacts. "How do they work?" he asks curiously. If the characters cannot provide him with an adequate answer, he will beg them for permission to examine the artifacts more closely. "The symbols here, they are a unique code." He immediately starts transcribing. "I’m going to need time!" SEETHING WITH ANGER If the characters want to make progress with Garlene, they are going to have to put their social skills to the test. The Scrapper trusts nothing but her own opinion and is wary of just about everyone. All interactions with her are at (-2D). Gaining her trust requires tact and the right choice of words, otherwise her pent-up anger will boil over, and she’ll shut herself off completely. Rolls on CHA+Conduct, CHA+Expression, or INS+Empathy are necessary for pouring oil on the troubled waters. Intimidation attempts by PSY+Domination bring about the opposite effect, causing her to try to get rid of the characters at the first opportunity she gets.
BLACK ATLANTIC 159 and pulls the surprised Scrapper to the ground. Garlene crashes to the pavement like a sack of potatoes and the crockery she carries rattles loudly. The boy is on top of her, biting her right arm as if he were possessed. Garlene howls in pain. The furrier does not know what has gotten into his son. Trancelike, he just keeps repeating his name: "Elam! Elam! Elam!" GANARIDS The boy bites and chews on the leather of Garlene's sleeve, but his teeth cannot puncture it. The boy's father is frozen in terror like a pillar of salt. He stands there, stammering the name of his child. The characters must do something. Before they know it, two other figures come storming out from between the stalls. Their skin is sallow, and their eyes are red and greedy. They run directly towards the Scrapper lying on the ground. "Get off me, you son of a bitch!" Garlene screams in a voice distorted by pain. She tries to loosen a wrench from her belt to beat the boy off of her. A fight breaks out. The two approaching lunatics open their mouths and snap at the characters. With an iron bar and a knife, they attack at random. Their movements are chaotic and unpredictable. What the characters do not know is that the two men are Ganarids, just like the boy. Malinesse's presence has put them in a trance. They want to infect themselves with Leviathanics. Madness has taken possession of them, and their perception is limited to one target: Garlene's pulsating arm. In the heat of the battle, let the characters roll INS+Perception (3). If they succeed, they discover what has triggered this fanatical attack. A hundred paces away, Malinesse runs aimlessly between rows of sealskins that wave in the wind. Even at dusk, her wooden idol mask and red hair are unmistakable. "Devour her! She carries the new life within her! Tear her skin off in scraps!" the redhead growls in her raspy voice. THE CHARACTERS CHASE MALINESSE Once the characters have gotten rid of the ferocious Ganarids and incapacitated Elam, they can try to capture the mother of the swarm. The display guides them through the forest of billowing skins and pelts. Suddenly, however, the chase comes to a halt. The transponder ceases to send any transmissions. Has she fled into the roadstead again? The growl of the mother of the swarm continues to echo in their ears. One thing is clear: Vatenguerre has not told them the whole truth. There is more to Malinesse than just the story of a simple drone whose good nose has unwittingly led her to Brest. What does she have to do with Ganaress and the creature from the day before? Why did Malinesse's people attack Garlene? Is there a connection between the Scrapper and the mother of the swarm? Before they can connect the dots, the characters discover a tiny, blinking transponder near the roadstead. The tiny pin is covered in fresh blood. Malinesse has gotten rid of her pursuers for good. THE CHARACTERS EXAMINE THE ATTACKERS The characters can focus on the slain attackers. A closer look at their sternum reveals unfinished stigmata. The two lunatics lying on the ground were probably drones. So was the boy. How did they manage to hide among the furriers undiscovered? Why do they wear clothes and have weapons? When the characters confront Elam's father, he is afraid of the punishment that awaits him. Stuttering, he tells the story of the boy's abduction after his birth and of how he returned years later, much older. That was a time when stories of revenants circulated all over Briton. He cannot say what is wrong with his son, but he pleads on bent knees with the characters not to tell anyone about it. He swears not to reveal anything about the incident if the characters just leave his son with him. If they agree to this, the furrier will take the unconscious boy in his arms and run off. DILEMMA The characters are faced with a moral dilemma here. How can they deal with Elam in front of his father without harming or even killing the boy? The latter would shock the father who knows nothing of the Ganarids. It would also make the characters murderers. More and more workers on the fur market mix themselves in the commotion and try to get a better look at what is happening. They have to incapacitate the boy without inflicting any massive physical harm. The characters may easily come to their wit’s end under such volatile circumstances. Every decision counts and has moral consequences. T H E M O T H E R OF THE SWARM "The Black Water is my destiny," Malinesse croaks from the south of the market. Her silhouette is a blur between the skins and stalls. She has disappeared somewhere in the thicket of the workstations and is circling the scene. Repeatedly, she barks her accusations to the heavens. "He was our salvation. Now, a new wave is upon us. A voice so powerful that it will ruin everything. " Let the characters roll PSY+Cunning (2) to get an overview of the chaos. SUCCESS, NO TRIGGER: Malinesse is responsible for the outbreak of violence. Perhaps, her presence alone controls the attackers. 1 TRIGGER: The awakening of the abomination and Malinesse's appearance at the pier happened at the same time. Did the drone influence the creature, and why was she begging to be one with it? 3+ TRIGGER: Bascule tore the wooden mask off of Malinesse's face. When she was wearing it, her voice was distorted. Does the idol mask amplify her abilities?
THE CHARACTERS SAVE GARLENE The Scrapper lies on the ground, curled up and grinding her teeth. Sweat trickles down her forehead, and she struggles to fight back the tears. Her right arm is stiff as a poker. What is wrong with her? She is shivering. Still carrying the heavy backpack, she looks like a beetle unable to get up on its own. "Please help me ..." she chokes out, trying to control the desperate sobs in her throat. If the characters try to help her, she looks at them panic-stricken. "Not here!" she pleads with puffy eyes. Where can the characters go with her? Ampere's shed is the only possibility nearby. III. DARK OMENS Ampere stands deep in concentration pondering the code. The characters arrive and in an instant, his concentration is broken. He stares at Garlene in disbelief. "Who ..." The question sticks in his throat as he realizes the severity of the Scrapper’s state. "Over here, on the couch," he says invitingly, putting down a coat so the characters can lay Garlene on it. The Scrapper's chest rises and falls in a frantic manner. She is burning with heat, and her gaze flickers across the room. A nameless fear has taken possession of her. "Please, I beg of you, do not turn me over to the Spitalians or the Anabaptists!" Her every word is a plea. Her heart is pounding. Whatever it is the woman is suffering from, she can already see death approaching. If one of the characters tries to cut open CURIOSITY The altercation with the furriers has attracted workers whose curiosity led them to the scene. If the characters want to work covertly and avoid attracting even more attention to themselves and the Scrapper, they must make a move. With a successful Combination of PSY+Cunning (3) and PSY+Domination (2), one of the characters can talk to the crowd and scare them away by falsely assuming a position of authority. In the ominous twilight, the workers are easier to confuse. The characters can get a few hours' head start before the chapel guards learn about the incident and start their own investigation.
BLACK ATLANTIC 161 the sleeve of her coat to uncover her secret, she will start panting. Each layer cut open releases more moisture, and a musty stench fills the shed. Finally, her arm is exposed. Black streaks crisscross her arm, branching out into fractals under the translucent layer of skin. "Extraordinary!" Ampere comments. "They’re going to kill me!" Garlene gasps. If the characters ask Garlene about the origin of the infection, she sits up and begins to explain. "It happened about two months ago. There was an accident on one of the secret oil rigs out in the Atlantic Ocean," she pauses slightly. "I don’t know, but we drilled into something and then my entire crew was dead. I fled with the escape pod. On the first day, it was just a black dot. Down here on my arm. Since then, it’s been growing. It gets bigger with every passing day," she says. Ampere watches the characters in confusion as they question her. Infections are not his area of expertise, but the mention of oil platforms piques his interest. "So they do actually exist! I knew it! The oil platforms are Aquitaine's fuel!" he says smugly. When the characters try to figure out what brought her to Brest or how she intends to get help, Garlene goes on to explain: "Parel is an idiot, but I've always been safe on his island. The old man doesn’t do me any harm, and I knew I could hide there for a while. I was hoping this shit would pass. But it’s only gotten worse." She gulps. "Three weeks ago, I heard on the market that an African woman was practicing medicine in the Balsam House. I’m absolutely sure she’s an Anubian. However, I can’t get in there with my arm. If one of those crazy Ascetics finds out about this, they will throw me on the next cart to the House of Atonement in Vannes!" Slowly, she closes her eyes. Garlene definitely needs some shuteye. Her voice starts cracking, "Someone has to get the Anubian out of the Balsam House and bring her here. She is the only one who can help me." "That is absolute nonsense!" Ampere interrupts. "How many more people do you want to bring into my shed? Look at my papers and records! Do you even know what’s going on here?" Ampere continues blustering and nothing can be said to assuage his fears. His paranoia runs wild. Anxiously, he runs to the window to make sure everything is quiet outside. The characters have to convince the Chronicler to cooperate with them if they want to save Garlene. Their common sense tells them that the Scrapper has no chance of survival if Spitalians or Anabaptists see her in her current condition. Everything depends on the decisions of the characters. AT THE CROSSROADS Within 48 hours, the world of the characters has been turned upside down. They have gotten a glimpse behind the scenes, discovered the first effects of Leviathanics and stumbled into the line of fire of an alleged Marauder. The artifacts that they have carried with them for so long are slowly revealing their secrets. Now, it is up to them to connect the dots in this web of information and find out the truth in its entirety. The following four scenes can be played in any order, with some of them possibly not being played at all. The scenes all happen concurrently. The characters will not be able to be everywhere at once unless the group separates and tries to follow all the leads during the same night. Splitting up the group will prove to be a challenge for the game master, but it enables the players to grasp the full spectrum of the adventure and later on, pool their knowledge. Additionally, characters acting on their own are usually weaker but also more inconspicuous, which gives them an advantage in this recon mission. Read the following scenes carefully and decide whether you want to lead the characters to different locations, or if you want to let the group decide what their next steps will be. You also need to choose whether you want to leave out a scene or use it at a later time. Whatever the characters decide in the following hours, the Day of Ganaress is on its way. CALCULATIONS If the characters ask Ampere about his calculations regarding the two artifacts, the question will hit him like an electric shock. "Here, the star generates coordinates when you convert the symbols into a duodecimal system. I don’t yet understand the numbers, because I don’t have any tools to match them to existing records. I would need access to the static Stream in order to draw further conclusions." He wanders through his small shed, lost in thought. "It would all be a lot easier if we were in Aquitaine, at least there's some technology there that I could use," he murmurs in an annoyed voice. "If I just had a map with a coordinate system ..." "Parel," Garlene whispers softly, "Parel has a map of the world. That’s what he uses to charm all those unsuspecting girls..." Then, sleep washes over her. TRANSITION The first three scenes take place in L'Arc. The fourth one, however, leads to Unir. SCENE I: THE FLASK: Here, the characters can try to locate information on the Starfire for Vatenguerre. SCENE II: AT THE EMPTY JUG: In order to experience Yasen and his sermon firsthand, the characters must come here. How else will they be able to get to the bottom of the Emissary's agenda? SCENE III: WEST WIND: If they want to help Soufiane and question Shamash, they must go to the West Wind. SCENE IV: THE BALSAM HOUSE:: If they want to find the Anubian, they have no other option but to go to the Balsam House. Garlene's time is running out.
THE FLASK WELCOME "Private function. Access by invitation or reservation only." With these words, the characters are abruptly rejected at the front door. If they want to get into the Flask, they have to come up with a plan. Maybe they have heard that the innkeeper, Norveigh, can be bribed. One hundred Drafts gets them in. Otherwise, they can try to persuade Tronte, the master of the chapel, to help them. Their only other option is the rear entrance. If they take this route, they have to go through the kitchen without anyone noticing and then make their way into the taproom. TAPROOM The characters burst into a gathering of Anabaptists. The taproom overflows with chapel guards, Orgiastics, Touched and Furors. The songs are loud and boisterous. Drinks are being guzzled at every table, and news spreads loudly throughout the room. "Three Spitfire tanks blew up. The soup kitchen is in ruins. Twelve victims. Oppolus and Vicarent are going to have to bless a lot of new graves," the characters hear in passing. Suddenly, they see a familiar face. It is Ghilvern, the hunter from the previous day. He toasts them from a corner of the Flask, beckoning them over. A stitched-up cut on his head glows a firesome red. "I heard you saved that dirtbag Parel!" he says visibly pleased. "He doesn’t deserve any help, but what the heck! Come, drink with me. I'm still waiting for my company to arrive," Ghilvern invites the characters. "That Scrapper has turned Brentwin's wife's head 180 degrees. She’s not herself anymore, and Brentwin is boiling with rage. He’s not the only one who has a score to settle with that Salt Wolf," he says, stuffing tobacco into a pipe fashioned out of walrus ivory. HOMECOMING Suddenly the front door opens, and two dozen Orgiastics enter the packed room under the cheers of the crowd. The newcomers look like they have not sat in a barber’s chair in years. Shaggy beards and long hair, their clothes have seen better days and their emaciated faces are a testament to their time away. Ghilvern cranes his neck and looks for familiar faces. Then, his arm shoots up and beckons an Orgiastic to the table. "Halvert! My old chap!" The hunter and the Orgiastic hug as if they have not seen each other for an eternity. "My brother!" Ghilvern then tells the characters. "He was gone a long time. Halvert, sit. These people are friends. They’re new to the city." The gritty man with the tired eyes looks the characters up and down before slumping into his chair exhausted. He greets the group with a drowsy nod. A barmaid comes to their table and asks for their orders. Halvert looks up and wags his tongue at her. "Beer. Roast meat. And later, your tits and your ass in my bed." Ghilvern and Halvert burst into loud laughter, and the waitress smacks the Orgiastic lightly on the back of his head. "You Island Boys are incorrigible. The same lines, year after year," she says mockingly and turns to take the others’ orders before disappearing. If the characters take a look around the taproom, they will see similar scenes everywhere. The crowd receives those just arriving as if they are coming home after a long time away. But where have they been for so long? The characters can ask questions to find out. AMBIGUITIES "Oh, Halvert and his pack are stationed outside Brest. Out there on the borderland, you know what I mean?" Ghilvern interrupts. The two brothers exchange looks. "Outside, on the Atlantic. Rough weather, hard work. After a while, it wears the best man down," ISLANDERS There is something fishy about the story of the returnees. Why does the barmaid call Halvert and his pack "island boys"? Why are the guests so excited about their appearance, and why was there no contact in the meantime? It feels as if the entire Flask is in on a secret that nobody talks about. A roll on PSY+Cunning (3) is necessary in order to recognize a pattern. SUCCESS, NO TRIGGER: Halvert has something to hide, and Ghilvern covers for his brother. His deployment to somewhere on the Atlantic cannot be a coincidence. 1 TRIGGER: Is Halvert possibly stationed at the Starfire hideout that Vatenguerre mentioned? If so, they need to investigate and get more information out of Halvert. 3+ TRIGGER: Maybe, if they get the Orgiastic drunk. That might get him to talk without attracting too much attention. Or perhaps find him a woman whom he can confide in.
BLACK ATLANTIC 163 Halvert explains, trying to stifle the conversation. "What's new, Ghilvern? Any hellspawn we can lock jaws with?" The Britoni recounts the past year. Their sister died, and their homestead has been abandoned. "It was quiet since the last Day of Ganaress, even on the border beyond Rennes. However, the Northern Passage is completely shut down now. The Demiurge has risen from the ground there. Yesterday, there was a sighting down in Godasse, near the fish market. These men were there and helped get rid of the beast. " Perceptive characters notice that the conversation seems extremely staged. Halvert has apparently not been to Brest for exactly a year. Why hadn’t he been at home at least once during this time? What danger lurks on the Atlantic that requires a one-year deployment without contact to one’s homeland? The characters can tell by a roll on INS+Empathy (3) that something is being left unspoken. DRINKING BOUT If the characters decide to drink Halvert and Ghilvern under the table in hopes of getting more information, this will affect both their Stamina and their wallet. The two men empty glass after glass with the characters. Sentences become longer, their relevance however diminishes. Halvert's tolerance has suffered after a year without alcohol, but Ghilvern drinks like a bottomless pit. The characters must pass multiple rolls on BOD+Stamina (3) to stay on their feet. After the tenth round of distillate, the difficulty increases by (1) with each additional glass. In order to get Halvert to keep talking and to say something concrete, a successful Combination on PSY+Cunning (3) and CHA+Expression (2) is necessary. "Demiurge," he mutters sluggishly. "I can’t stand Ushant anymore. Barringer's drivel. It’s always the same sermon!" Halvert's babbling is incoherent, Ghilvern's eyes are half- closed. He snorts through his beard. "Why don't you tell him to send you back to Brest?" Ghilvern asks with a shrug. Halvert raises his eyebrows in disbelief. "I made a vow, you bastard cur! Do you want me to become a traitor?" Staggering, he raises his forefinger and presses it against his brother's chest. "Something like that could only come from an unbeliever like you!" Ghilvern knocks his hand away. "Who are you calling an unbeliever, you damned lump of walrus shit?" Halvert immediately straightens himself up, wobbles and tries not to lose sight of his brother. "Mother should have set fire to you after birth, you piece of shit!" The mood turns ugly rather quickly. Suddenly, the two brothers grab each other by their collars. Spitting and cursing, they start throwing fists at each other. OUT OF HERE The two screaming drunkards attract the attention of the others in the taproom. Immediately, Anabaptists are up on their feet trying to separate the brothers from each other. The characters have what they need. Now they have to get out unnoticed. The turmoil rages on in the background as they fight their way to the door. "You’re not really trying to skip out on the tab, are you?" the waitress screams after them. The characters have to take care of the bill if they do not want to have the attention turned in their direction. In the crowd, they recognize some of the chapel guards from the day before who came to check if everything was okay. They look drunk. After the characters have paid the bill, it is their task to get away secretly. Let the group roll AGI+Stealth (2) or PSY+Deception (2) to avoid attracting attention. They made it. They are back in the fresh air of L'Arc. Now, they just have to find a way to get in touch with the Spitalians somehow. Maybe, they can find Vatenguerre at Brotherhood Square tomorrow. DISCREET The Flask will be the starting point for further adventures. The more inconspicuous the characters act, the easier it will be for them to gain access to the Flask in the future. If the characters mingle with the Anabaptists to try to expand their network or if they befriend chapel guards during the scene, their efforts this evening will prove worthwhile later. The characters can also try to find out something about the attack on the soup kitchen; however, this will only lead to a dead end. The chapel guards only know the official version of the story. To their knowledge, it was an accident. It seems that they also have not heard about the incident with the tanners yet. The sighting of the creature at the fish market is the topic of everyone’s conversation. The Anabaptists see it as a bad omen although it has no bearing upon their mood in the least. Their sense of superiority is omnipresent, and to them, Briton remains invincible. LOOT FEVER In addition to the characters' investigation, the Red Pack is also looking for the Starfire. If the characters' mission is unsuccessful, the Spitalians get the information they need on their own.
AT THE EMPTY JUG AMONGST FANATICS A narrow lane leads to the Empty Jug. A flickering light shines from the low windows of the underground tavern. On the stairs, the characters meet Ascetics who are deeply immersed in prayer. Their eyes are closed and their lips are tight. With clenched hands, they rock back and forth, humming melodies into their spirits. THE TOMB OF THE GRACIOUS The interior of the inn is like a tomb. A forest of pillars supports the stone vault, and low support beams divide the room. Iron chandeliers dangle from the ceiling with candles that produce just enough light to make out the contours of faces in the murky depths of this tomb. At least, the echo down here is more pronounced. "Temptation is a daily burden. With every glance it torments our existence, separates us from the divine Pneuma in all of us." The characters recognize Yasen's voice. At the end of a long, unadorned table, he holds his sermon. The characters estimate that perched in the niches on the walls and sitting at tables are at least two hundred people who are listening attentively to their idol. If the characters want to move in the Empty Jug without being noticed, they must stay in the shadows. A successful roll on AGI+Stealth (3) keeps them hidden. "The creature that bared its face at the fish market was a sign of the Demiurge. However, it was also a sign of vice. The citizens of Brest have turned away from God's word and partaken of the poisoned milk," he continues. THE GOAT Suddenly, there is an interruption. The scream of a woman rings through the building. All faces turn towards the exit. Yasen's bodyguards come rattling down the stairs in full armor, dragging a young woman behind them. Her robe is torn and her breasts hang free. Her face is covered in blood. An Orgiastic takes her by her short hair and throws her at Yasen's feet. "We found the goat, Emissary!" the front man eagerly reports. "She asked one of our men for money. Offered to let him mount her in exchange for Drafts." He mercilessly grabs the woman by the neck and presses her chest to the table. He squeezes her cheeks with his armored right hand so she is unable to speak. "You were right, Yasen. A Jehammedan, right in our midst!" He nods at her tattoos, which are now clearly visible. Ascetics stand up in disgust and spit on the helpless woman, who is pushing with all her might against the Orgiast's grip. A second bodyguard approaches, reaching for her robe and exposing her bare bottom with a jerk. "Look at the poison that lies between these thighs!" he exclaims demandingly. A plump female Ascetic with ruddy cheeks and angry eyes quickly steps up. With a leather belt, she starts to flog the Jehammedan. "Enough!" Yasen's order brings the commotion to a halt. "Let her speak, Massimo!" The front man complies and throws the woman into a chair. Yasen approaches her. "What's your name, you whore?" The woman spits a bloody glob in his face. The Emissary wipes it away unimpressed and fixes her with his gaze. "Tomorrow morning we'll put you on an iron spit, roast you over open fire, and pick your bones. When the juice of our stomachs have cleansed your disgusting remains, we will shit you on our fields as dung," the Emissary says spitefully. Motionlessly, Yasen watches his captive trying in vain to wriggle free from the bodyguard's grip. "Aries will tear you to pieces, old man! He’s already looking for me. "Each of her words is full of disdain. The Anabaptists answer with roaring laughter. TO THE SLAUGHTER What is a Jehammedan woman doing alone on enemy territory? Is she suicidal? Like a helpless sheep, she has come to a pack of wolves who take much joy in playing with their prey. Whatever the reason for her presence, she will not survive more than a day without a miracle. A roll on INT+Legends (3) offers further clues. Anabaptists, Jehammedans, and Palers add their Secrets trait to the roll. SUCCESS, NO TRIGGER: Perhaps the woman is an outcast without a tribe, a Delila lost in Brest who sells her body to survive. 1 TRIGGER: Yasen is obviously looking for scapegoats that he can send to the slaughter. A helpless Jehammedan would come in handy. 3+ TRIGGER: What did the woman say about Aries? Didn’t Ampere mention a Marauder? Why would a Marauder be looking for an outcast woman though? Could this be a lead?
BLACK ATLANTIC 165 medan is huddled in her dungeon. Without explosives, the walls are indestructible, and even then, the woman would still be in chains. If the characters try to talk to her, she storms to the window. Her breathing is shallow. "Please get me out of here." "Eris," she says upon being asked her name. "My tribe has rejected me. I'm alone." she declares. If the characters ask why she is in Brest, she will lower her head. "An Iconide who saved me from my Shepherd sent me to Brest. His name is Adonai, and he said I should seek shelter among fishermen's children.” She pauses. "Shelter from Aries." The characters should remember her liberator. He is the Iconide whom they helped at the burial ceremony after the civil war in Toulon. He is the one who bequeathed Jehammed's star to them. However, her words about Aries serve as a clear warning to the characters. "Get me out of here. Free me at dawn when they take me to be executed. Free me, and I will reveal to you the common teachings that bind the Jehammedans and Apocalyptics," Eris whispers through the crenel. "Go! Make sure no one sees you! The wolves will be careless if they are sure my blood will flow and that will make your job easy,” she says before disappearing from the window. The characters must leave before they are discovered. "Take this bag of wind away." Yasen makes an indifferent gesture. "Announce to Oppolus that an execution will take place tomorrow morning. The goat's head shall roll before the procession begins." Massimo grabs the hair of the Jehammedan and drags her out of the hall. His men follow him to a wooden staircase leading to the upper floor. IN CHAINS If the characters want to find out where the guards have taken the woman, they must leave the inn. With a roll on INS+Orienteering (2), they can take a rough guess at which direction the wooden staircase will take. However, to get a decent picture, they must get to the roof of the community building. They can reach the outbuilding via a ladder on the side street, but they must be vigilant, otherwise the guards will discover them. From the rooftop, the characters spy a round tower on the opposite side of the Empty Jug. It appears to be connected to the inn. If the characters decide to approach the tower, they must be careful. The gables of the roof are rotten and slippery, prone to collapsing under the first wrong step. A roll on AGI+Mobility (3) helps to avoid slipping. A crenel on the tower allows a look inside. The Jeham-
WEST WIND THE AGREEMENT Soufiane is already waiting nervously in a side street in front of the West Wind. When he notices the characters, he waves his arms wildly to get their attention. "Finally! You’re late. It took forever to get rid of those damned chapel guards." Soufiane seems harried. He looks around. "I’ll keep an eye behind the buildings and you go inside." He waits for the characters to agree and then high-five’s them all. "Done!" STRANGERS AMONGST STRANGERS Inside, the air is like that of a humid swamp. Tobacco smoke festers, making it impossible to see beyond one’s own arm and the noise in the room makes conversation a futile endeavor at best. Immediately, pearls of sweat form on every forehead. A flamboyant Bygone relic flashes colorfully, drawing guests to it. They eagerly play the strange game containing a silver ball. As if possessed, they bang buttons on the sides of the machine in order to move two flippers that keep the ball away from a hole at the center. If the characters let their gaze wander through the smoke screen of the confusing taproom, they will suddenly see Parel sitting at the counter. He has buried his head in his hands and sits in front of an army of empty glasses. If the characters address their acquaintance, he will shakily raise his head in their direction. The Salt Wolf can barely open his eyes, and his reactions are slow. When he recognizes the group, he unrestrainedly falls into the arms of the first available character. "I love you! I love you so much!" he moans. Then he whirls to the waitress and yells, "I love this man, he saved my life! I love him!", but his screams are lost in the noise of the West Wind. Parel can no longer see straight and slurs his sentences. If the characters leave him to his fate, someone will rob him, or possibly even stab him. If they want to protect him, they will have to take care of him. SHAMASH They see Shamash sitting in an alcove. The white hood gives the Neolibyan away. When the characters reach his table, he asks them to sit down. If they have Parel in tow, the Scrapper stands there, drowsily muttering to himself. "Your friend has been drinking here all night like someone who just got kicked to the curb," Shamash says with a broad grin. "Do you want to trade with me?" he asks brusquely. The characters must decide how much they want to reveal. If they start talking about Britain, a crooked smile will flash across Shamash’s face. "Who wants to go to Britain anyway? An expedition would consume vast amounts of resources and possibly cost two-thirds of the lives of the people involved." If the characters ask about the dangers, he dismisses the question. "Cannibals. The entire region is full of them. No base for negotiations." If the characters try to find out why he is working alone, far from Africa's influence and without escort, he will laugh loudly. "I haven’t seen any Chroniclers in Brest, have you?" Parel begins to nod off and is soon asleep, resting peacefully on the shoulder of a character. The group can address the topic of the artifacts again. Shamash leans back. It almost seems as if he knows that the characters have the disc and the star and are just unwilling to say as much. The Neolibyan watches each of their movements. "You have to put something on the table if you want to negotiate," he says encouragingly. The characters are in a bind. If they refuse, there is no reason for the Neolibyan to interact with them any further. He asks one last time, "How much are the plates worth to you?" If the characters continue to deny possession of the artifacts, Shamash's expression darkens. A SECOND GLANCE The characters sit opposite Shamash, but with his hood and in the dim light of the inn, his features are barely perceptible. A successful roll on INS+Perception (3) yields a clearer picture. SUCCESS, NO TRIGGER: A golden circlet sparkles on Shamash's forehead, and snug headgear frames his features. African jewelry? 1 TRIGGER: Despite the heat, Shamash wears heavy gloves. The characters, on the other hand, must take off their shawls and cloaks in order to get some fresh air. 3+ TRIGGER: Even though a wet film shines on the forehead of each character, no bead of sweat shimmers on the face of their interlocutor.
BLACK ATLANTIC 167 THE SPEAR "Every object is part of a prophecy, predetermined through space and time." Without asking, he reaches for two of the characters' cups and empties the last sip on the floor. In the next instant, he holds a hazelnut between his fingers. "A nut is a nut. Today. Now. At this moment," he says. Then he puts it on the table and covers it with a cup. He turns the other cup upside down. "But tomorrow, the nut will be a tree. It will carry many nuts, and its seed will cover the earth." He knocks on the empty cup and raises it. The nut is under it. Then he raises the first cup, and the nut underneath is gone. "The question is not what the nut is now, but what the nut will someday be." His eyes glimmer. He studies the reactions of the characters. Without waiting for their answer, he grabs a leather-wrapped staff. In one quick movement, he loosens the sheath, and a spear with a stone tip appears. Shamash smirks. "Just a spear. A weapon without potential. It cannot kill without someone’s hand guiding it.” Shamash shows the stone spearhead to the characters. Despite its delicate engravings, it appears to have been the product of an archaic technique. It’s no forged piece of steel. "It is not the task of the spear, but the task of the carrier to unfold its power. He can either keep the force contained in the simple weapon – or decide to unleash it." Shamash's observations are captivating. The Neolibyan guides the conversation as he pleases. He answers each of the characters’ question with a parable. If the negotiations don’t bend to his will and the characters persist on their stubborn course, Shamash will rise from the table, throwing a pile of coins at its center. "I’ll pay the bill, but only for the present and never for the future." With these words, he leaves the table and disappears in the crowd. THE AWAKENING Parel snorts and his eyes flicker as if he is about to awaken. "Garlene," he whimpers to himself. His arms are half outstretched, his fingers void of strength. The Salt Wolf looks as if he could vomit at any moment. The characters must decide what to do with the haggard Scrapper. Should they bring him back to Ampere's shed? If they leave the West Wind with Parel in tow, Soufiane will immediately cross their path. Astonished, he looks at the drunken Scrapper, then waves the characters away from the street and into a back alley. "He went that way. I watched him leave the inn." The group stands on a winding street with houses lined one after the next. The view of the sky is barely visible from where they are standing. If the characters want to try to find tracks in the darkness of the backyards, they must succeed on a roll on INS+Survival (3). The cobblestones lead into a hollow that has filled with mud. Countless tracks lay on its surface. One, however, stands out. It is fresh. The sole profile is segmented, and two letters are emblazoned on the heel: RG. But the shoe size cannot belong to Shamash, the shoe print is far too small for him. The Paler? Is he still tracking the characters? "What does it mean?" Soufiane asks. He does not understand the context. If the characters decide to let him in on their guesswork, his charismatic grin will fade away. "Tomorrow after the procession, find me at my launch down in the harbor. We must equip ourselves! Someone wants to get rid of us," he says in a conspiratorial tone. "I do not want to get rid of her! I love her!" Parel suddenly interjects. Soufiane rolls his eyes and runs back to the main street. CONNECTIONS Ampere has mentioned three components that make up Jehammed's Will: a disc, a star, and a spear. Why does Shamash show them the stone spear in order to make his point? Is it part of the artifact? What about the strange engravings on the stone? A successful roll on INT+Legends (6) can provide information. Chroniclers, Scrappers and Palers add their Secrets trait to the roll. SUCCESS, NO TRIGGER: The symbol seems familiar to the character; however, they cannot put their finger on it. 1 TRIGGER: The engraving resembles the strange drawings on the Aquitaine ships, which washed into the port of the City of the Chroniclers years ago. 3+ TRIGGER: The same symbol supposedly marks the hidden portals that lead into the interior of Exalt's Grindworks. TARGET The characters have been warned. They must be more careful. How did the bloody Paler manage to follow them without them noticing? Are they carrying something he can track? Have they been bugged? Their sneaking suspicion should be reason enough for the characters to inspect their gear.
THE BALSAM HOUSE LATE IN THE EVENING Unir is already asleep when the characters reach the Balsam House in the north of the city. Located at a crossroads, the four-story building rises from behind a high wall. An Ascetic with thinning hair and wrapped in a thick fur stands at the iron gate. He blows warm air into his freezing hands. The characters must find a way to gain access without anyone noticing. If they want to go undetected, they must climb over the wall and sneak into the building. AGI+Stealth (3) to avoid being seen. If they want to fake an injury or illness, they must succeed on a roll on PSY+ Deception (3). They can also try to inquire about the fisherman who lost his arm the previous day. "He’s dead! Who are you? Relatives of his?" the Ascetic replies. If the characters’ act is convincing, he will lead them to the morgue, where the dead are laid out. THE GUIDE If the characters engage the Ascetic in a conversation and ask questions concerning the presence of an Anubian woman in the Balsam House, he will look at them perplexed. "Imbali? Of course, she’s here. Where else in Brest would an Anubian be? In the elephant temple, perhaps?" he curses, as if the characters have taken leave of their senses. Why on earth would they ask him such a foolish question? "There, down the hall. It’s the third door on the right. She’s in the steam bath. Don’t worry, she’s only milking snake venom." He returns to his post at the gate, shaking his head. The characters find the door without any difficulties. IN THE STEAM BATH Clouds of steam heavy with the scent of essential oils hit them as they enter the room. A circular basin filled to the brim with shimmering emerald-colored water bubbles softly. Wooden walkways lead around the pool. The characters can make out the silhouette of a person through the fog that fills the heat-drenched room. The person is situated on the opposite side of the pool. If they cross through the haze, they will see that the figure is a woman. She is standing at a table naked, covered in blue and yellow paint from head to toe. She holds the skull of a viper to a mason jar and squeezes the poison out of the snake's fangs. When she notices the characters, she carefully puts the serpent in a basket and turns to them. "Why have you come to me?" The slim woman shows no signs of shame and steps in front of the group. Four concentric circles surround her belly button. If the characters explain why they have come, the Anubian will listen attentively. "Does your visit have something to do with the creature at the fish market? What does it look like? Does it have wave patterns and fractals?" she asks. The more the characters tell her, the more worried she becomes. "How do you know the Scrapper? Why are you helping this woman?" She makes sure that the characters' explanations are credible, then puts on a plain linen robe. "You do realize that you cannot share your discovery with the Anabaptists? They will kill this woman and throw you on the next pyre," she admonishes them in no uncertain terms. "We cannot bring her here. Lead me to her," she says, gesturing towards the door. BACK TO L'ARC Imbali jogs across the city with the characters. The Anubian has no problem keeping up. Thirty minutes later, they arrive back at the shed, where Ampere comes to THE ANUBIAN Imbali is unfazed by the appearance of the characters. It almost seems as if the Anubian expected their visit. What knowledge does she have that she is not sharing with the group? A Combination on INS+Perception (3) and INT+Legends (2) reveals more. SUCCESS, NO TRIGGER: Her accent betrays her. She is from the south coast of Franka. But what brought her to Brest? 1 TRIGGER: The rings on her belly represent her rank in the hierarchy of her cult. The fewer the rings, the closer the person in question is to the mysterious Hogons who lead the Anubians. 3+ TRIGGER: The machinations of the followers of the Jackal are even hard to understand for other Cults. Why has a high-ranking Anubian been humiliated with the task of helping Anabaptist healers and Ascetics? This doesn’t add up.
BLACK ATLANTIC 169 meet them. He is visibly upset. He has been watching the Scrapper the entire time. "She's talking feverishly. I cannot possibly concentrate on my calculations," he laments, as if the characters might consider this a point of sympathy. The Anubian ignores the Chronicler and rushes past him. Inside the shed, she gathers the group around the sleeping Scrapper. Imbali examines the blackened arm with a look of worry upon her face. "Wash your hands with soap. Do not touch the arm a second time." She leans over Garlene and touches her brow. Then she rips the Scrapper's shirt open in order inspect her chest. Red stains of an unfinished stigma have already taken form. "Spore infestation. It’s moving from her arm towards her lungs. The poison is spreading throughout her body and multiplying itself," she whispers with awe in her voice. Imbali stares at the characters. "I have never seen anything like this! When the blackness consumes her shoulder and reaches her chest, it will be too late. We must cut off her arm, or else she will die." "You’re all insane!" Ampere suddenly stomps his feet and angrily tears his notes down from the walls. He stuffs them into his backpack, chiding the characters, "We're all fucked because we have a Marauder on our heels, and you have nothing better to do than to discuss amputations!" The characters can try to calm the angry Chronicler, but their attempts prove futile. He is caught in the throes of paranoia. "We have to get out of here! This damn hut isn’t safe. We were too careless," Ampere barks. "The Chronicler is right. We need to get away from here if we want to save the girl," interrupts the Anubian. "Without my equipment, I cannot sever her arm. We’ll be risking her life if we try to treat her here." NEW LODGINGS The Scrapper island in the Penfeld is the only safe place in Brest the characters know. The Salt Wolf would do anything to save Garlene. If the characters have already played the scene in the West Wind, it is possible that the drunken Scrapper is currently with them. If they skipped the scene, Parel will be asleep on the island. But how are they going to get there? They need a boat. Soufiane is the answer. If they can find the Leopard at the port, he can transport them in his launch. This would, however, mean that they must divulge their secret to the shifty trader. Ampere would give anything to get out of the shed and begins to pack his belongings in a rush. Imbali is also no stranger to the island and can ferry across from Unir as soon as she gathers her equipment from the Balsam House.
THE DAY OF GANARESS What is this world? A sinister place. Today is a veiled path, tomorrow is a silent grave. Whoever lives in the past, hangs by the threads of oblivion like a puppet. There is no way forward and no way back, just an endless struggle in a vortex of futility. The redemptive shores are known as religion and ideology. Hatred and prejudice. Nobody needs to seek hell. Everyone is already living in it. SCENE 07: IN THE PENFELD Deep in the night. An autumn storm sweeps over Brest. The characters have reached Parel's island and made it into the safety of their refuge. The Streamer Ampere and the Leopard Soufiane are with them. In addition to their allies, the exhausted Scrapper Garlene is there, as well. Parel and his six Mice — Poli, Monia, Weilam, Claude, Kriss and Valentino — are doing their best to accommodate and feed the group. Together they wait for Imbali to arrive. Garlene's condition has worsened over the last few hours. The fever has taken hold of her and she shivers in her sleep. Her breath is faint and like a pendulum, she swings between life and death. The soft whines of the Salt Wolf can be heard in the background. He is relatively sober and is finally beginning to understand the severity of the situation. The love of his life may fall victim to an illness with no name, and he is helpless, left to rely on the goodness of strangers. He paces around the room restlessly. "Do not hurt her," he beseeches the characters. They are in the middle of the warehouse. Poli has turned on the spotlights, bathing the room in a bright blue neon. In the cold light, everyone present in the room appears much older, having aged years within the space of a moment. Garlene lies lifelessly on a makeshift stretcher in the middle of the room. The Mice have tried to clean and prepare everything for surgery. Tension has hardened their faces, and nobody says anything. The arm of the Scrapper is throbbing. Something uncanny is happening under the translucent skin. The black web is pulsating. I. MARDUK'S PROTECTIVE HAND The large sliding door opens, and Imbali enters the Scrapper Hall. The wiry woman is carrying baskets, bottles, and a leather bag full of instruments. Water runs from her brow, and her robe is soaked with rain. ASSISTANCE If, among the characters, there are no Spitalians who are well-versed in medicine, Imbali will perform the amputation and ask the group to help her. The Anubian relies on the aid of the characters. Ampere, Soufiane and Parel are not an option for this task. AFTERGLOW ACT
BLACK ATLANTIC 171 RESISTANCE Marduk oil. Again and again, this Anubian witches' brew proves to be a shield against the powers of the Primer. The black fractals in Garlene's arm cannot spread to a new host. But what happens to a person not protected by Marduk oil? The fisher whom the beast's whip hit had nothing to guard him against the poison. Is the oil film the antidote to this new form of the Demiurge? A successful roll on INT+Science (2) or PSY+Cunning (2) makes the characters realize that Elysian oil would probably have the same effect. If the characters have the holy oils of the Anabaptists in their possession, they can see if their theory holds true. The results are clear. The nettles cannot take hold if Elysian oil is applied. This information is vital for the survival of the characters. At a small side table, she lays out her utensils and frees her upper body from the wet clothes. "What is her condition? Is she responsive?" she asks as she empties her baskets and bags in order to prepare her tools. "Whatever spirits have taken possession of her, they have not yet reached her soul. It’s not too late," she tells those who are standing at her side. She turns to the first character and hands them a flask holding a dark liquid. Characters from the Rhône swamps recognize the viscous fluid at once. Marduk oil. The balsam of the Anubians. "Lubricate yourself," she says. Imbali in turn opens a vial containing the tar-like substance and rubs its contents on her arms, chest, and face. The oil lends her face a demonic appearance. "Come!" she orders and approaches Garlene's lifeless body. With oiled hands, she reaches for the poisoned arm of the Scrapper, presses her fingers into the transparent surface of her skin and massages the muscles. Black nettles wind their way through the permeable membrane and spread to the back of Imbali's hand. Instead of taking hold, they slide off of her skin. The Anubian woman nods seriously. "Marduk guards us against the poison." DIVIDED BODY The Anubian constricts Garlene's arm with a leather tourniquet and waits until the skin begins to turn blue. She casts a questioning gaze around the room, then rummages in her leather bag. She pulls out a butcher's axe and offers it to the characters. "I'll try to grab the artery when the arm falls. I cannot do both at the same time though. Here is the separating line. You must hit it! The blow must sever the arm smoothly. You must not hit too low, otherwise it will remain in the body." She turns the arm in position. "Here." She draws an invisible line with her finger. "She will be in shock, so you must hold her down, otherwise I will not find the vein." She looks in the eyes of the characters to see if they have understood. "You! Take the tub over there and fill it up with Marduk oil. When the poisoned arm falls, put it inside the tub and seal the lid with candle wax." Parel cannot bear to watch the carnage that is about to take place. Distraught, he runs his hands through his hair, his breath rasping as he stares at the ceiling. Soufiane walks in circles through the warehouse, puffing one tobacco leaf after the other, trying to distract himself with a self-soothing soliloquy. Poli cries silently. He is aware of his own mortality, for inside of him is a fragile child, not a stoic warrior. "We grew up with her," he murmurs. "When her arm is gone, part of us will fade." Tears stream down his cheeks. "If you lose a body part, they say, the pain stays with you until you die." Monia's voice trembles. "Do it," Imbali says. SHOCK With a dull crunch, the axe cuts through Garlene's upper arm. The black limb splashes on the stretcher, and a hot stream of blood shoots out of the Scrapper's shoulder. Garlene opens her eyes. The shock of the amputation has roused her from her sleep. She has foam on her lips and her eyes are glassy. Her nostrils quiver and she is unable to scream. Instead, she writhes and rages, wordlessly gasping for air. Blood gushes from the stump. Every movement is one of panic. The characters must give all they have to hold her down. Imbali buries her fingers in the open wound, digging through sinews and muscle fibers in order to catch the throbbing artery. Blood spatters everywhere. The Mice cannot watch this. Parel buries his face in horror and wails in anguish. "Got it," Imbali shouts. "Pliers!" Garlene twists in pain. She does not know what is happening to her. Her pulse is racing. The characters must use their words to soothe her. The shock leaves her unable to make a sound. Her hips shake and her legs tremble and kick the air aimlessly. "Put two fingers in her mouth, otherwise she will bite off her tongue!" the Anubian commands. "You, hold her nose shut so she has to breathe through her mouth. I'll constrict the vein. Hold her still!" Imbali’s face is distorted from exertion. TACHYCARDIA Keeping Garlene under control requires tremendous concentration and willpower. Characters who help Imbali must successfully roll INT+Focus (3) or PSY+Willpower (3) during the procedure, otherwise they will make mistakes that can lead to the Scrapper’s death. To hit the arm in the right place, the player needs a roll on BOD+Melee (2). It must cause at least Damage (8) to cut through the bone in one go.
"Give me that wire and the needle. Press her shoulder down. Now the linen towels. Press yourself against her! She mustn’t move, or else I won’t be able to close the wound!" Garlene's pupils twist and her eyelids flicker. Her bladder empties itself as her mouth fills with saliva. Then, she blacks out. SURVIVED Imbali checks the pulse of the lifeless Scrapper and washes her forehead with cold water. "She will survive, but her body will take weeks to regain its strength." Exhausted, the Anubian collapses next to the stretcher. "I felt the wave. Months ago. Something has awakened in the sea and it's lurking along the shore, trying to leave the water," she says in a faint voice. Then she looks at Parel. "Where was the girl infected?" The Salt Wolf answers hesitantly: "The Atlas oil rig. That’s where she was last stationed. I don’t have the coordinates. You can only get there via a ferry from Carnac." Imbali suddenly perks up. "Carnac?" she asks curiously. If the characters try to ask her about the significance of Carnac, she will dismiss their questions. "It's nothing. The name just sounded familiar, that’s all" She gets up and starts to wash the blood off the stretcher. II. RESTLESS Ampere hijacks an empty workbench at the back of the hall and begins spreading out his notes. Once the characters have managed to get the map of the world from Parel, they hand it over to the Chronicler. He leans over it and gazes broodingly at the illustration. The characters see the world as it once was. It depicts continents with foreign names, mountain ranges, oceans, and islands. The land of the crow, nothing more than a small speck, is surrounded by an infinite unknown. "I don’t see the connection," Ampere suddenly says, laying two wires in the shape of a cross on the map and maneuvering them north. "Why Bath? Why this primitive place in Britain's western exurbs?" he asks, as if the characters owe him an answer. "The numbers on the star are a code. They lead to here." He taps the spot. If the characters ask Ampere about his knowledge of Britain, he will simply shrug. "I don’t know any more than anyone else. Argyre rules the entire region. No one returns from there alive." "We could try to get there," Soufiane interjects. "With my launch, we can reach the coast and then fight our way inland." The mere thought leaves Ampere disheartened. The
BLACK ATLANTIC 173 Chronicler has had enough. If the characters tell him about their encounter with Eris, Ampere will raise his brows in response. "What should I do with a Jehammedan? The Protectorate is teeming with them." If the characters mention what they have learned about Aries, his face will become frozen in an expression of shock. "The Marauder?" he asks breathlessly. If the characters tell him about Eris's claim to knowing the origin of the Jehammedans and Apocalyptics, his eyes will narrow to slits. "Is there a way to question her?" "Only if Oppolus pardons her," Parel calls grimly over his shoulder as he covers Garlene with furs and helps the Anubian remove the stretcher. "I can request an audience with the King, but we must reach the castle before dawn. If Yasen plans to execute her before the procession, we only have three hours left to get there." SUN GODS "Before you depart, let's return to your conversation with the Neolibyan for a moment," Soufiane interrupts the group. "What is Shamash planning to do? Has he come to spy on Britain? Are there more Africans coming?" He tensely taps his upper lip with his fingertips. When the characters inform the Leopard of their conversation and make mention of the spear, Ampere immediately starts to listen attentively. If the characters start talking about their encounter in the West Wind, Imbali will try to interrupt them. "Shamash is not a Neolibyan name," she says, trying to wash the Marduk oil off her skin with a sponge. "Re, Shamash, Helios, Apollo, Mithras, Sol Invictus," she recites. "The Bygones had innumerable names for their sun gods. Some of them living in palaces of gold, towers that reached to the sky ..." Ampere and Soufiane look in Imbali’s direction vacantly. Imbali pulls out a piece of parchment and walks towards the group. "In Anubia, near the pyramids, a statue has been waiting for millennia. The Bygones called it the sphinx." She spreads the scroll on the table. On it, the characters see a sketch of a jackal lying on its stomach with its front paws outstretched and its head held high. "The sun gods cut off the Jackal's ears and snout and carved the face of a man upon the head of our ancestor. They desecrated Anubis, and the Ba grew in the followers of the sun gods." "What in the world are you talking about? What does your funny dog statue have to do with the Neolibyan?" Soufiane is visibly annoyed by the mythical statements of the
Anubian. She folds the piece of parchment. "Nothing. Or everything," she says softly. Soufiane pushes past the Anubian and corners the characters: "If Shamash is in Brest, he has to be staying somewhere. I will get you to L'Arc and try to find out where the Neolibyan has pitched his tent. If he is in one of the inns, we’ll find out where. Just like last night. Same time, same place." "Come on guys, the boat is ready," Parel calls into the hall. SCENE 08: THE AUDIENCE The weather is fiendish. The wind howls and tosses the small motorboat back and forth. The tame Penfeld has turned into a raging river. Above the castle, lightning splits through the sky. Parel steers the boat sideways and rams into a small boardwalk. Even before he can moor it, a chapel guard comes running towards them with a lantern. "You can’t dock here!" he yells over the storm. Parel jumps out of the boat. "Come!" he shouts to the characters. The chapel guard sets his legs wide apart, blocking their way. "What are you doing here?" "Please, we have to talk to Oppolus. The king must see us!" "Are you out of your mind, you dwarf? What do you think this is? Do you even know what time it is?", the stunned guard yelps. The Anabaptist has no intention of letting them pass. The characters must persuade the angry man. "Forget it! I’m going to count to three, and if you aren’t back in your boat by then, I’ll have you arrested. "If the characters do not convince the guard with a roll on CHA+Expression (3) or PSY+Cunning (3), Parel will raise his index finger threateningly. "Listen, guard! I am soon to be married to Morbihan, the King's daughter. Then, I will sit at Oppolus' table and have all the time in the world to tell him of all your shortcomings." Parel's threat surprises the guard. He looks around hesitantly. Then he turns on his heel and leads the group into the citadel. "No word to Oppolus about Garlene!" the Scrapper hisses to the characters as they run up the stairs. I. IN THE THRONE ROOM Oppolus enters the throne room in his nightshirt, a walrus leather cloak over his shoulders. His eyes have the weight of sleep upon them and his hair hangs freely, no longer bound together in a braid. "Parel! What, pray tell, have I done that I should be subjected to your talk at this unfortunate hour?" If the characters were arrested in Scene 02, the silver-haired ruler recognizes them and sighs resignedly. "Didn’t Tronte warn you to keep your feet still?" he asks begrudgingly. If the characters give the reason for their late visit, Oppolus will respond with a frown. "The execution is legal and Yasen has already announced it. The woman has been accused of blasphemy," says the king with a shrug. Lost in thought, he cuts off a piece of meat from a cold roast that has been left on the table and stuffs his cheeks generously. With his mouth full, he explains, "Unless there is a witness who can clear the girl’s name, Yasen will get what he wants." He smacks his lips and rinses his throat with a bowl of mead. If the characters inquire as to what charge of blasphemy Yasen has brought against her, the king will ponder this for a second. "How would I know? I was not there! Did you not witness anything?" he asks in astonishment, trying to dig a morsel of meat out from between his teeth. If the characters tell him what happened in the Empty Jug, the king will consider their words with a thoughtful expression upon his face. "Yasen is a madman. He executes people every year. It’s his despotic way. The arbitrary nature of it all is supposed to be a warning to enemies not to question the Emissary's power," Oppolus calmly explains while licking his fingertips clean. "Why is this ALLIANCES Oppolus' throne room is crammed to the ceiling with hunting trophies. Ivory, hunting horns, walrus skins, bear pelts and moose skulls tell the story of a long reign. A roll on INT+Legends (2) reveals the King's alliances. In addition to the many trophies of Britoni origin, devotional objects of the Broken Cross deck the walls as well. Oppolus seems to have allies in both camps. ALLEGORY What is the point of Imbali’s jackal story? Who are the sun gods, and how did they disempower the Cult of the Anubians? A roll on INT+Legends (4) must succeed in order to decipher this strange story. SUCCESS, NO TRIGGER: In the myths of the Anubians, the Ba stands for negative forces and is in direct contrast to the Ka, the symbol of physical perfection. 1 TRIGGER: Is the Anubian woman claiming that her Cult is older than Eshaton? Why was the Ba unleashed when the statue was desecrated? 3+TRIGGER: Does she equate the sun gods with the Bygones, and is the Ba responsible for their demise?
BLACK ATLANTIC 175 girl so important to you? She is just a stray Jehammedan!" His interest in the answers to these questions is sincere. He moves his tongue around to clean his teeth and remove any leftovers, emphasizing every sentence with a smack. "So, you want to save her life? You know that you are making a powerful enemy? The Emissary does not forget his foes. If I intercede and pardon the girl, then I can only do it with you as witnesses." His blue eyes fix on the characters. "Then you will be on Yasen's death list instead of the girl." The ruler gives the characters a moment to consider this. "Right now, he has nothing against you yet, but that will change. The day will come when he will drag you into the Blood Pit." He asks the characters if they are ready to go to such lengths for an unknown woman. If they say yes, he will turn to Parel. "I've helped you so many times, Salt Wolf. Kept you out of the worst. People want to cut your eyes out. If it were up to the husbands of Brest, you would already be rotting somewhere out in the woods. When will you finally clean up your act and marry Morbihan?" he asks reproachfully. The Scrapper sinks in his seat. Oppolus does not expect an answer. He knocks on the table three times. "Come on! Get ready. You have to get to the Blood Pit as quickly as possible, or today’s dawn will be your new friend’s last. TO THE BLOOD PIT The storm has cleared and left a clear dark sky in its wake. It is just before six o'clock. The characters have exactly half an hour to reach the pit if they want to make it in time. They must make an objection in Oppolus' name and delay the execution until the king reaches Brotherhood Square. The characters have not slept at all. Their eyes are red with fatigue and their nerves are raw. Now, they must rush through half of the city in order to save a Jehammedan who they have never met from her execution. On their way to Unir, they cross paths with the first flocks of visitors. Many got up early to prepare for the procession. The unsteady light of wavering torches illuminates Brotherhood Square. Hundreds of people have gathered and are awaiting the execution in the Blood Pit. II. CATHARSIS The characters can hear the clanging armor of Yasen's bodyguards approaching from afar. Single file, the Orgiastics march across the pavement. One of them blows into a hunting horn, sending a jolt through the crowd. The characters recognize Massimo who is dragging Eris on a leash like an animal. Her arrival to the ring is met with cautious cheers. Most of those gathered are rather leery of the event. "So young," a whitehaired woman with a pointed nose next to the characters whispers under her breath. A low rumble fills the rows of spectators, some with outstretched necks hoping to get a better view. The hooves of Yasen's white horse thunder over the pavement. The Emissary enters the square. He raises his arm victoriously, circling the Blood Pit on his horse before dismounting and mingling with the crowd. Where is Oppolus? The king seems to be taking his time. The characters can only hope that he has not been delayed. All of a sudden, there is an uproar. Massimo pulls Eris to the center of the Blood Pit by the rope. He places his knee on the neck of the Jehammedan, pressing her to the ground. With an iron grip, he dislocates her wrist and bends her fingers. Whimpers of pain escape her mouth. Yasen enters the pit. Like a predator, he circles his hatchet man and the prisoner, eyeing the helpless woman with disgust. "Indeed, to experience purification as a blasphemer is the greatest grace of all," Yasen begins. "He who pollutes paradise and mates with beasts, who praises a god other than the true One, has nothing to lose in this world ..." He kneels before Eris, his face now near hers. "We send him underground, so he may suck on the Demiurge's teat." The characters have to put a stop to this madness. The only way is by going down and entering the Blood Pit. Torches and lanterns line the path in the indigo light of morning.
If the characters decide to intervene and stop the event, Yasen will instantly freeze up. Incredulous, he sizes them up from head to toe. He cannot believe his ears. What are they saying about an objection issued by King Oppolus? He holds his hand to his ear and orders the characters to repeat their proclamation. Massimo and Yasen exchange perturbed glances. Both have never heard of an execution being cancelled. What begins as a faint whisper quickly takes the crowd by force. "Release the woman!" "Stop torturing her." The Emissary cannot fully grasp the cries of protestation that now confront him. He searches the ranks for the troublemakers. "The Demiurge is not a phantom, to whom one can turn to and away from at one's own will. He continues to eat his way through our midst with every passing moment. If we show this heretic leniency, we will allow damnable thoughts to enter our houses.” He holds his sermon with a raised forefinger and walks towards the characters. "What about you all? Which pack do you belong to? What goals are you pursuing with your false grace?" he snarls at the group. His bodyguards quickly appear and plant themselves in front of the characters. The young Orgiastics are fierce, but they only attack under the Emissary’s orders. They form a human wall between the group and Eris. THE KING'S WORD IS THE LAW Chapel guards part the crowd gathered above the Blood Pit. Oppolus appears on the stairs dressed in garments of splendor. Ivory jewelry dangles over armor made from walrus leather, and he carries his harpoon like a scepter. "In the name of the Britoni, I pardon the prisoner," he says coolly as he walks down the steps. Two of Yasen's Furors stand in the king’s way. Massimo gets up and presses his boot into Eris's back in order to keep her pinned to the ground. The Orgiastic grimaces defiantly. "Walrus king, go home. Your time is up. Take care of your tusks or put them up your ass," Massimo mocks. "You’re not a king. You don’t even know what the title means, you petty fisherman. You play with your jewelry and your horns without even realizing how tawdry you appear. You are nothing but a pitiful chieftain!" The Orgiastic spits on the floor in disgust. Yasen breaks away from the characters and goes over to Massimo. The Emissary puts a reassuring hand on the his armored shoulder. Then, he says in a paternal tone: "Massimo is right. You sit on the throne because of your son. A child not even sprung from your loins. Shame on you, Oppolus. You have fathered a dozen scoundrels, and they will befoul your kingdom." Straight-faced, Oppolus listens to the charges attentively. The spectators watch the confrontation with astonished looks. Chapel guards protectively stand at the side of Oppolus, whose posture is as straight as that of a tree trunk. "These people," his gaze wanders to the characters. "They have testified that the Jehammedan is not guilty. Their word stands against yours, Yasen, but my word stands above yours." He knocks the shaft of the harpoon on the pavement three times. "The King's word is the law," the chapel guards bark in unison. Suddenly, the crowd joins in. "THE KING'S WORD IS THE LAW", their cries echo through the Blood Pit. Yasen twists his lips hatefully. The population has sided with Oppolus. With a jerk of his head, he orders his people to leave. Immediately, his guards rush forward and force the spectators apart in order to create a path for the Emissary. Massimo bumps into one of the characters. "I will remember your face, you traitor!" he hisses. A hail of boos follows them as they leave. THE PEOPLE Brest opposes Yasen's power. The people have sided with their ruler, and the characters have dealt a blow to the Emissary in the form of public humiliation. Yasen and his troops must withdraw, otherwise they risk inciting a revolt with them as its target. But the characters have made a dangerous enemy. Over the next few days, Yasen will order his scouts to shadow the characters and collect anything that can be used against them. TWO CAMPS The Orgiastics of the Chapel Guard and Yasen's bodyguards are poles apart. The weapons and equipment of the Chapel Guard are covered in dents and scrapes, while Yasen’s bodyguards carry armor and swords of the highest quality. A strong age difference is also clearly visible. The Chapel Guard consists mostly of gray-haired veterans whereas Yasen’s bodyguards are polished fighters in their prime. In spite of their Cult affiliation, the Chapel Guard seems to back Oppolus instead of yielding to the Emissary.
BLACK ATLANTIC 177 I I I . A N A C H I N G LY LONG NIGHT The sky is tinted with a morning blue. Some of those who were in attendance at the execution pat the characters' shoulders appreciatively. The assembly disperses, and Oppolus leaves under the protection of the Chapel Guard. Eris straightens herself and wipes the dirt off of her face. She is distraught and looks exhausted. The night has left its mark on her. Parel puts his parka around her shoulders and looks at the characters, his eyes full of questions. "What now? Should we bring her back to the island with us? What about you? Are you staying here?" The characters must decide what their next move is. They have been awake the whole night, but, right now, sleep is not an option. The atmosphere is heated. They have defied Yasen, and the music of the procession can already be heard in the distance. Strange sounds echo through the streets. Rattles, drums, and flutes battle for the audience’s favor. "Mingle with the people. I'll take care of Eris. She’ll be safe in the workshop. Garlene needs me as well," Parel says reassuringly. If the characters ask Eris what her origin is, the Jehammedan smiles to herself. "Do you know what it means to be alone? Without a tribe? Without Shepherds? You run through the streets and are the prey of every impulse. " She runs her hands over the contusions on her arms and neck. "I don’t know which is worse: to be at the mercy of my own tribe or that of another." She bites her lower lip. "Can you protect me?" If the characters ask what they should protect her against, she will respond in a clear and steady voice, saying : "The ram knows each of its black sheep. He stalks them and rips them in two if they have even dared to poison his flock." The characters have some difficulties following her words. "I saw something I should not have seen. I can show it to you if you offer me your protection," she negotiates boldly. When the characters insist on seeing it, she says, "Not here. We must go somewhere safe." She looks around. "Everything is linked. Yesterday, today, tomorrow. The Cults, their rituals, our faith. When you look up at the stars, it will be clear to you." The woman’s words are peculiar, her explanations void of rhyme or reason. "Come on, girl. I have food and clothes for you," Parel says, leading her by the arm westwards. With a wave of his hand, he assures the characters that he has everything under control and there is no cause for concern.
SCENE 09: THE PROCESSION It is blistering cold. The crowd at Brotherhood Square seems not to be affected by this in the least. Wrapped in thick winter skins, they excitedly gulp down spirits and distillate in anticipation of the approaching spectacle. Macabre melodies fill the street as the thunder of the procession sounds along Pioneer Road. People disguised as drones stagger ahead, their torsos bare. Their bodies have been smeared with mud and the stigmata is painted upon their chests. They move together in a flock towards Brotherhood Square. Some crawl across the pavement like animals and throw their heads back and forth as if scavenging the street for something to eat. Wind chimes ring ethereally as a breeze sweeps through the Ganaress masks hanging from the gables. Throaty singing drifts through the air, but the chaotic canon is unintelligible. Hundreds, maybe even thousands, imitate Ganaress' drone army. All of Brest has risen to its feet to attend the spectacle. Mouths agape and eyes wide open. Children cling to their mothers in fear. A group of people screams as the fake drones walking by threateningly grab a woman. Loud laughter accompanies the playful suspense and enthusiasm shines in the eyes of the crowd. "GANARESS! GANARESS! GANARESS!" they roar in unison. All faces turn to the Northeast. In the distance, a huge monster turns onto the processional route from a side street and walks through the underbrush of bodies. It is Ganaress himself. Stuffed with flax and straw, the effigy covered in whale blubber and walrus skin is approaching. Despite its artificial nature, it is still able to instill fear in those brave enough to cast a glance in its direction. Colossal in size, it looms over the heads of the city dwellers. Some children gasp at the sight of the monster. Their bitter cries can still be heard even as they bury their faces in the furs of their parents. "GANARESS! GANARESS! GANARESS!" The chanting is overwhelming. The pounding of the drones makes the ground quake. The Demiurge's herald has arrived. I. THE SUBLIME Within an instant, the square is flooded with resounding cheers. The spectators turn away from Ganaress and the air crackles with tension. In the southwest of the square, the crowd parts, creating a path. Hunting horns blare. The characters must climb up onto a tribune in order to see what is going on. In the background, the cacophonic chants of the drones reach their climax. A towering man donning armor and wrapped in a cloak that extends from the floor steps out into an alley
arrives. The Sublime. A deafening applause consumes the entire place as the people pay homage to their redeemer. Drum rolls accompany his appearance. He listlessly drags a bidenhander across the pavement and discovers Ganaress in straw form. He takes long, languid steps towards the opposing army and his expression is one of indifference. With each pace, he moves closer towards his nemesis. The drones thrash wildly while the spectators watch with bated breath as their hero relives his most triumphant moment. The giant figure leans forward toward the Sublime. Vicarent looks at it, his eyes glazed over with boredom. He beheads the creature with a swift strike. No anticipation. No theatrics. Ganaress' fake head rolls in a circle on the ground, before finally resting against a well. Vicarent does not wait for the endless applause. He takes three steps to the first row of spectators who rejoice ecstatically as he dives into the crowd. The drones awaken from their simulated trance. Beacons flare up everywhere, and purple mist swirls across the square. People fall into each other's arms amidst the plumes of colorful smoke. Music sounds from all corners, and the procession suddenly takes on a lively festive mood. People carry tables to the square and bring food from market stalls. Men tap barrels of mead and distribute pitchers all around. Spurious drones grab frightened children and carry them around on their shoulders. On the rooftops surrounding the square, war horns sound, and soon, people’s conversations are drowned out by the commotion, each word indecipherable from the next. Briton celebrates its invincibility. DURING THE DAY The characters have no choice but to continue their investigation. The Day of Ganaress is in full swing. If they want to rub shoulders with the population and find out more, this is the right moment to do so. The whole city is out and about. Exhibition fights take place in the Blood Pit and the stalls distribute free glasses of distillate. Music and dance transform Brotherhood Square into a place of exuberant celebration. Hundreds seated at banquet tables partake in the day’s feast. Baskets full of food are passed around and bread is broken. People toast each other with drinking horns and kiss wildly. The characters can seize the moment and split up to look for clues in various parts of the city or they can decide to stay together and work as a group. Below, we offer four scenes that take place independently throughout the day’s festivities. As game master, you can also place these modular scenes elsewhere to give your players a new lead. BLACK ATLANTIC 179
THE SEIZURE A GLASS OF SPIRITS In a quiet side street, the characters find peace and a moment’s rest. The music from Brotherhood Square is a faint dull thud in the background. At a small stand, a maiden offers spiced tea and boiled brandy. Her father, a man with a silver mane and a tattooed face, rolls barrels into the nearby cellar. He smiles kindly as the characters move past him. "Hey, guys. Help an old codger to lower this damn barrel down. My back’s no longer what it used to be." The elderly man offers a rope to the tallest character as an invitation to help. If the character does so, they must use their weight to counterbalance the heavy load and keep the rope taut. "Yeah, that's good. Let it come slowly," the old man encourages the character. The daughter meanwhile invites the other characters to a shot of brandy as a token of her gratitude. "Drink to my old man!" A roll on INS+Perception (3), and the characters recognize a strange wooden idol dangling from the maid's neck. A horrible face is carved into it. Fleshy and swollen, it grins at the characters. A second later, the maid drops a glass of brandy. VISIONS The maid rears up as if she has had an epileptic seizure. Her head flings back and forth. Her pupils quiver and her eyelids flicker. She looks possessed. All of a sudden, her body cramps up and vomit spews from her mouth. "Shera! Are you drunk?" her father asks confused. It seems as though something strange has taken hold of her. She snorts as if unable to breathe. "Heee iissssss hhhhheerrreeeeeee ..." the maiden growls in her madness. Her lower jaw is trembling. If the characters want to calm the raging maiden and figure out what has taken control over her, they must go behind the booth. Her arms and legs twitch spasmodically, but Shera does not resist. The characters can rush her over to a bench and hold her down. Blood pours out of her nose, and she cocks her head as if she can see something that exists beyond the characters. Her breathing is erratic. A roll on PSY+Cunning (2) is necessary to realize that Elam, the furrier’s boy, exhibited the same symptoms as the woman does now. If the characters unbutton her shirt, their suspicions are confirmed. A blooming stigma glows on her sternum. "What is wrong with my daughter?" the old man asks worriedly and slaps her hoping to restore her to reason. "Heee iissssss bacccccckkkkk ...," she croaks. If the characters ask who she is talking about, she will open her eyes and suddenly stretch out her arm like a wind-up doll. Her finger points straight to the cobblestones on the side street. If the characters look where she is pointing, something unbelievable will happen. They recognize the Chakra symbol of a Pheromancer in the cracks between the cobblestones. She points to the next spot. A wind chime with the same symbol hangs from a nearby gable. Her finger points to a third spot. At a neighboring stand, green apples form a Pheromancer symbol. What is happening? The characters feel as if their sense of direction is slipping from them. The air takes on the sweet, delicate taste of rose water as vertigo overcomes them. "GANARESS," the maid snarls. A stroke hits the woman, leaving her shaking. She spits uncontrollably and hits the back of her skull over and over against the wall until a red spot forms on the stone. "You cannot deprive us of the Black Water!" she screams with pure conviction, then collapses. The father stutters with fear in his voice and yanks the cape of one of the characters. "What is wrong with my daughter? Has the Demiurge possessed her?" His look WARNING SIGNS So far, no drone has been responsible for even the slightest twitch in a mollusk. The conventional methods also haven’t been able to detect anything. No derangement and no clear signs of identity loss. The drones wear clothes, speak, and live among the populace. How can that be? Have they been despored? In spite of flourishing stigmata? How is that even possible and if so, who is responsible? Without clear warning signals, any person could be a drone. To unlock the mystery, the characters must follow the trail of the revenants, and this leads straight to the Spitalians.
BLACK ATLANTIC 181 of uncertainty searches for answers. Two chapel guards observed the woman’s seizure from afar and are now approaching to help. "Please, bring her to the Balsam House," the old man beseeches them. The veterans nod conversantly and seize the helpless maiden. "Everything all right with you?", a guard barks at the characters. The question comes like the tolling of a bell, and the dizziness suddenly subsides. If they check the places where the Chakra symbols appeared, they are no longer there. No trace of the wind chime, no green apples, and the lines between the cobblestones are nothing more than more than cracks. REVENANTS "I picked her up years ago. In the fall of '89. She lived outside in the forest," the old man sobs, completely disconcerted. "I didn’t have anyone left to look after," he moans drearily. If the characters ask him if such a seizure has ever happened before, he will wipe his tears from his face and say: "Yes, two or three times since I found her. But over the last few weeks, she has been acting stranger. Sometimes, she would just stare at the water for hours down at the roadstead. It was impossible to talk to her." "But there has never been anything like this before ..." The old man is completely at a loss. Teary-eyed, he searches for an explanation. "Do you think she's one of the revenants everyone’s been talking about?" The characters can only guess. Still, the vertigo and the maiden's Chakra symbols together are puzzling. Did she mix the spirits with Burn? Have the spores affected them in any way? Did any of the black fractals jump on one of them during the amputation? The characters have every reason to be paranoid and quickly examine each other from head to toe. The question of whether they can still rely on their own senses slowly seeps into their consciousness. EXTERNAL CONTROL The Pheromancer King is dead, and not even Psychonauts can be resurrected. Or can they? What is the Black Water? Why are Malinesse and the drones so obsessed with it? Is there something that influences their actions? Is the idol bearer alone responsible for these outbreaks or do other powers control them? Did the characters’ contact with the black web trigger the maiden?
THE BEGGAR EXCESS Around noon, the festivities at Brotherhood Square reach their highest point. The chapel guards have their hands full breaking up fisticuffs, dragging drunks to the sobering chamber and trying to restore the peace. Meanwhile, behind a wall of wooden slats separating a market stall from the crowd a very different scene takes place. Peering through a crack between the boards, the characters see two men mindlessly beating up a beggar. They strike the man down with their cudgels. BEHIND THE WALL "I warned you, you miserable bag of bones! Stay away from my goods," one of the two thugs thunders. Blood oozes from a wound on the beggar’s head. He tries to lift himself up. "Stay away from my stand, you thief!" Then they start laying in on the alleged pilferer again. The assault is brutal. The attackers are drunk and bloodthirsty. They exploit the vulnerability of the beggar and take out their rage on him. There isn’t a chapel guard anywhere to intervene. If nobody comes to the man’s aid, they will kill him. If the characters step in, the two Britoni will stop. "He’s a dirty thief! For days, he has been stealing from me and robbing me of my profit! I‘ve warned him three times already!" the angry Britoni protests when the characters interfere. His friend joins in, "Why are you getting involved at all? You’re not from around here. Let us handle things like we usually do." As he passes by, he kicks the beggar in the ribs. The man writhes and tries to get to his feet once more. The first Britoni raises his cudgel in the air, preparing to hit the beggar again. If the characters draw a weapon or seriously threaten him, his club will freeze in midair. If the Characters succeed in a roll on PSY+Domination (3), they can take action against the two merchants and scare them off. If it looks as if a bloody confrontation is about to ensue, the two of them will rebelliously throw their weapons to the ground. "There, you have your beggar. Come on, Flint, back to the booth," the first man says contemptuously, nudging his comrade to follow him. NO MEMORY The beggar rolls and sits up, leaning his back on a nearby wall. Blood has turned his face bright red. The man is not even twenty winters old, yet he is haggard and exhausted. Shaggy black hair sticks to his face. "Something to eat," he says with one hand outstretched. His arm appears from under his rags. Numerous bruises and scratches discolor his chalky skin. He looks as if he has been crawling through a field of barbed wire. A successful roll on INT+Medicine (2) indicates that the wounds must be more than two days old. "Something to eat," he repeats. If the characters share a ration with him, he will stuff the food into his mouth, his fingers shaking all the while. He fills his cheeks, gorging himself on the food. If the characters ask for his name, he will not answer, instead he just chews the food with his eyes fixed on a blank spot in front of his feet. If they ask him where he is from, he will painfully swallow a mouthful of food and wipe some blood off of his face. "I don’t know," he says, still staring at the same spot. "I have forgotten." He is on his feet at once as if he had not been hurt at all. For someone who has been IMPRESSIONS Nothing about the beggar's outward appearance adds up. He is too young and too fit to not be able to fend for himself. He could easily find work as a peon or a stable boy. His rags do not reveal anything about his background. He wears no jewelry and has no tattoos or body paint that could mark him as a Britoni. Judging by his accent, it is hard to say if he even comes from Franka. What draws a beggar to the end of the world? Why is he here? Certainly not because of his piety. There are far better places to eke out a living or go underground. Is he running from something?
BLACK ATLANTIC 183 wounded the way he has, the beggar appears exceptionally resilient. He cleans his face with a piece of his rag cloth and looks the characters straight in the eye. "Who is the judge of humanity? Who leads the scions from afar and sows his seed in their minds?" he asks suddenly. His eyes are innocent like those of a child. If the characters ask what he is talking about, the beggar will smile. "I knew the answer once. But I have forgotten it," he says absent-mindedly while scratching his scalp as if he had lice. "Is it wrong to eat?" A roll on INS+Empathy (2) brings certainty that the beggar is serious about the quizzical question. If the characters tell the beggar that he should not steal food, he will look at them as though they have lost their minds. "Is it bad to take what is owed to you?" he asks like a defiant little boy. Before the characters have a chance to answer, he throws a heavy sack over his shoulder and wanders off down the street. PECULIAR The characters cannot make sense of the beggar's behavior. If they turn to watch him leave, they will see him heading west, making his way to Godasse. After a few moments, he disappears into the crowd. If the characters want to investigate, their only chance is to try to find the angry merchant. He is standing behind a table selling smoked meat and roots. "That damn beggar! Always stealing from me and nobody else," he complains, his arms flailing. "No, he’s not from around here. I’m sure of that. I recognize a face when I see it." Then he raises his finger as a warning, "Guys like that, we finish. Next time, don’t interfere. We have our own rules here." DISCREPANCIES For someone who can’t distinguish between possessions and loot, the beggar, with his odd question about the judge of humanity, exhibits a rather broad vocabulary. What is wrong with this man? Why doesn’t he have any memories? Why did he ask these seemingly random questions? A successful roll on INS+Empathy (2) assures them that he is neither slow nor mad. On top of that, being able to stand after countless blows as if nothing had happened is evidence of a truly extraordinary constitution.
PRESERVISTS TARGET A little boy whose top row of milk teeth has fallen out tugs at the skirt of a character and extends his hand. A beggar child? The boy gestures as if he wants to whisper something to the character. If the character leans down, the boy will whisper in their ear: "Your friend said to let you know that you make a very good target." If the character inquires as to which friend the boy is talking about, he will point towards a small side street. Vatenguerre. Wrapped in a black cloak and with his hood pulled over his head, he calmly waves them over. The boy is still holding out his hand. "Something sweet! Your friend said that you have something for me." Once the characters have gotten rid of the child and made their way to the alley, the Preservist welcomes them sullenly. "You've got to learn to be less obvious!" Vatenguerre grates. "It's far too easy to track you down." He pulls his hood even further forward, his face hidden by the black fabric. "Follow me and make sure not to attract any attention. Vega wants to see you." REUNION IN GODASSE Vatenguerre leads the characters to Godasse, taking the small bridge on Miller’s Lane. They reach a run-down country house in a backyard tucked far away from the streets. Inside, the floorboards creak and the air is damp. Vatenguerre ushers them through a long corridor to a sparsely furnished living room. Someone has barricaded the windows. Flames crackle in the fireplace. An empty leather armchair is the only thing that catches the eye in the otherwise barren room. Vega sorts her notes at a work table. "Have you found out anything?" the Spitalian asks without hesitation. "Vatenguerre has vouched for you. What are you doing here?" she wants to know. The woman's features are polished porcelain. Her eyes are iron and her behavior is calculated. "Doctor Vega. I am leading this mission," she introduces herself and shakes hands with each character present. LEVIATHANICS Not wanting to waste any time, Vega begins her summary. "Besides us, you are the only ones who witnessed the attack two days ago. We examined the arm of the fisherman. This material is contagious. It wrapped itself around the existing DNA at once, but luckily the severed limb did not become an active substrate. It's hard to imagine what would happen to a living organism if it were to become infected," she rattles off the information like a machine gun. "We're looking for the origin of this material," she adds. "We call it Leviathanics, it's a new form of Psychonautics. The sixth Chakra, the missing link, has most likely been bound to the water since Eshaton, but the evolutionary phase is over. It is coming to the land now." If the characters have problems following her, she will slow down. "Leviathanics originates in the Atlantic. We believe the Earth Chakra is located thousands of miles off the coast." She stops and takes a deep breath. "But when an Earth Chakra blossoms, it means that there are also Mother spore fields. When creatures like this beast come ashore, it can only mean one thing. A Mother spore field of Leviathanics has already reached the coast of Briton." She looks at the characters, a sense of urgency upon her face. "Is there anything you can tell us that will help our mission?" If the characters say no, she will continue in more detail. "When Leviathanics makes it ashore, it will be our downfall. It is infectious and it is parasitic. It seeks human hosts and spreads through skin contact. Unlike all other psychonautical aberrations, it does not have to undergo an embryonic cycle. WARY The characters would do well to be wary of the conspiratorial nature of the meeting. What exactly is Doctor Vega saying? Why doesn’t she make her findings public and enlist help from the platoons stationed at Rennes? Why is she surrounded by Preservists? Why did she wait two days before deciding to let the group in on what she knows? Even if the Epigeneticist has decided to reveal the facts now, her explanations leave a bad taste in the mouths of the characters. Why did they release Malinesse if she is so dangerous, and where are Bascule and the other Preservists right now?
BLACK ATLANTIC 185 Contagion is an immediate process that results in the complete infestation of the host and turns an infected human into a Leviathan." If the characters do not understand, she will begin to lecture like a teacher: "Each Earth Chakra produces a specialized rapture. Leviathanics is the Sexual Chakra. It stimulates itself by splitting. Its blueprint is simple: impregnation, division, proliferation. Compared to all the other raptures, its instincts are more primitive and easier to decipher. And that is exactly its advantage. It is viral." She circles the work table and plants herself in front of the characters. "A sperm splits from the swarm. Alone and unique, it swims towards the egg. Its head is a battering ram, its primal instinct is predetermined. Every phase of its meaningless existence is geared towards this singular goal. Insemination. From a fusion with the egg comes the formula of life. Limitless possibilities for a singular opportunity. Leviathanics takes advantage of this unique process. Just like a sperm, it penetrates organic matter and fuses with it. It is at this moment that it becomes pure mutagen. It transforms living things, reducing them to a single purpose. Proliferation at any cost." CLARIFICATION If the characters try to ask Vega about her mission, her reaction will be a snappy one. "Vatenguerre has already told you. We are trying to solve the mystery of the Starfire and carry out negotiations with the Anabaptists. However, they’ve proven to be a stubborn and unruly bunch in all regards. The discovery of Leviathanics is pure coincidence. Up until two days ago, we had only speculated as to its existence. What we discovered is conclusive proof." The characters must decide what they are willing to disclose. In their current situation, the information that they have is worth gold. Can they trust the Spitalians? Will they tell them about Garlene? Should they reveal what they know about the Atlas oil platform or their theories about Ushant? Should they ask the Spitalians about Malinesse? If the characters manage to successfully steer the conversation towards the subject of the swarm mother, Vega will grimace. "It was a mistake to rely on a drone. We thought she would be the perfect tracking hound for finding the Starfire. Instead, however, we must assume that it was Leviathanics that lured her to Brest," she admits contritely. "In the meantime, we must also take into account the fact that the incubation period of Leviathanics is a lot shorter for individuals with spore affliction than for their unafflicted counterparts. And this is exactly the problem." Her eyes narrow. "Ten thousand former drones from Ganaress' hive live all over Briton. If only one of them gets in touch with the Black Water, we will instantly have a pandemic," she says ominously. "The Anabaptists do not recognize the danger at hand," Vatenguerre interrupts. "If you know anything, you have to tell us!" If the characters keep the information to themselves, Vega will bang her fist on the table. "This conversation never took place. Vatenguerre, take them away. We’ll continue without them." If the characters try to make amends, she will refuse their attempts at placation. "This is not child’s play!" she hisses coolly before turning back to her notes. The Preservist shows the characters the way back to the road. When they enter the backyard, a caliginous sky greets them. Gray clouds race across Brest. "I thought we had allies in you," says Vatenguerre. "Do not stand in our way and you’d do best to forget what you've seen. To deny us your help is one thing, to betray us is another ..." he warns them emphatically and disappears into the house. DRONE HIVE Vega's numbers are terrifying. Ten thousand drones in Briton? Where are they all from? Why haven’t they been hunted by the Spitalians? Is Vega trying to put one over on the characters, or does her apocalyptic prognostication contain a kernel of truth? For the moment, the characters can only speculate. Vega's work pad on the desk could, however, tell them more ... Maybe, if they handed Garlene's arm over to Vega, she could examine it. Maybe, that would convince the Epigeneticist that they are not a threat. But that would, of course, mean betraying Garlene and the Salt Wolf. According to Vega, the incubation period for an unafflicted person takes longer. Garlene became infected with Leviathanics more than two months ago. How fast would the infection progress in a drone? If it is true that Leviathanics attracted Malinesse, can the same also be said of other Ganarids?
SAINT VICARENT ON THE BENCH If the characters want to catch a glimpse of Ganaress' remains, this is the right moment. They have been informed that the chapel will be open to visitors for the next seven days. When they reach the black walls, they recognize a familiar face. Tronte, the master of the chapel, sits on a bench in front of the building, peeling apples. A good-natured smile flits across his lips when he sees the characters. "Good job this morning," he says in a warm voice. "The chapel guards told me everything. It was wise to summon Oppolus, though I’m still wondering how you managed to get the old walrus out of bed so quickly." He asks the group to keep him company. He cuts two apples into quarters and shares them with the characters. "Yasen is a dangerous man, but his power rests in Rennes, not here. All of us chapel guards fought in the war. Now, all we want is to till our fields and get some rest," he explains prudently. "But the Orgiastics of Rennes are a new generation. They are thirsty for blood. Peace does not appeal to them." He plucks at his beard. "With Vicarent's victory over Ganaress, the Pheromancers have disappeared, and Yasen has turned the righteous rage of our Cult inward on itself. He wants change, but his hands are tied. The Cult gathers behind Vicarent, and the people behind Oppolus." He gets up and stomps his wooden leg, inviting the characters to follow him. "Do you want to see the Demiurge?" he asks. GANARESS Tronte thrusts a heavy key into the cast-iron gate. The doors open, and he welcomes the characters in with a gesture of his hand. The interior of the chapel is dull and gloomy. The rows of pews form a blur in the shadows, and the air is heavy with the smell of anise and incense. Slanting beams of light force themselves through honey-colored windows. A monumental cross rises to the ceiling of the chapel. Ganaress' remains have been tied with leather and nailed to wood. His overgrown bones pile up to form the outline of a giant. Ganaress’ skeletal dimensions are beyond belief. The Pheromancer King was a titan. His misshapen skull smiles down upon them. "With his demise, Briton's rise began," Tronte says in a reverent manner. The characters can take a look around the chapel. The plain room has nothing more to offer than its central display. If they ask Tronte about the battle waged against Ganaress, he will issue a shrug of ignorance. "I wasn’t there. We were in the field four years earlier, fighting against Markurant. I lost my leg in Bassham. When I took over the office here, everything had already ended." ENCOUNTER "I beheaded him. That’s the whole story," a voice suddenly echoes behind the characters. If they turn around, they will see a giant leaning in the doorway with his arms crossed. "The Sublime," Tronte says with deference in his voice and lowers his head. "Stop your submissive drivel, Master of the Chapel," the Sublime responds indifferently, stepping out from between the pews. Vicarent's face is dark and hardened, his nose burnt and blackened. A heavy leather coat conceals his frame. "Are you the fools who meddled in Yasen’s affairs?" If the characters answer in the affirmative, he will be unable to hide the hint of a smile. "Good luck! That old sack of shit will do everything in his power to ensure you burn, " he says without sparing them another glance. Then he turns to Tronte. "Anything new about that sighting on the fish market two days ago? Have your men found out more?" BONES Characters who have never met a Psychonaut might tremble at the sight of the bones. The unnatural size of the Pheromancer alone is intimidating. They cannot comprehend how one single person could have succeeded in slaughtering this false god. A successful roll on INT+Science (3) suggests that Pheromancers go through several stages of growth before becoming a queen. Different colored parts of the skeleton may indeed indicate separate growth cycles. Another strange detail catches their eye. The bones have honeycomb indentations that are reminiscent of a skeletonized hive. Are the plagues hatched in the Pheromancers’ bones?
BLACK ATLANTIC 187 Tronte looks at the ground in shame. "Nothing, Sublime. We searched the entire bay and questioned the fishermen. They caught the whale about two hundred miles offshore. No one knows how the Demiurge got into the animal." "The Demiurge is in everything, Tronte." Vicarent presses his lips together. "Never underestimate the great deceiver," he says in a sinister way, looking up at Ganaress. "What about the Spitalians? Do we have a lead there?" Tronte shakes his head. Diligently, he lists off where his chapel guards have been looking for clues. "Vega. The sorceress of Rennes is behind all this. I swear, Tronte, I have rarely met a woman whose skull I would love nothing more than to split." Vicarent's words are pure poison. The huge man grunts. "Sublime, maybe the Spitalian knows something more about the creature. Maybe, she can help us. I’m sure she’s willing to have an earnest conversation with you." "Shall I humiliate myself before her, Master of the Chapel? Should I fall down on my knees and beg for her help after they betrayed us?" Vicarent's outburst of rage is like a roll of thunder. "I owe nothing to the Spitalians! Neither my time nor my humility." He pulls his bidenhander from its sheath on his back and hurls it like a spear against the cross. The blade shatters Ganaress' ribs and sticks in the wood. "I've done all of this on my own!" the Sublime roars with outstretched arms. His head is red with rage and his shoulders tremble. He stares wide-eyed at Tronte. "Don't you ever dare offer me unsolicited advice again," he warns the master of the chapel and stomps to the exit, cursing wildly. COMPASSION "For a moment, I thought he was going to crush my skull," Tronte exhales relieved. "He's not the man he used to be. Time has gotten to the boy," he says, his words coated in clemency. If the characters try to make sense of Vicarent’s outburst, Tronte will respond dismissively. "Oh, the Spitalians failed Vicarent in the battle against Ganaress. He never forgave them for their defiance," Tronte explains, hobbling over to the cross. He tugs at the bidenhander to free the blade from the wood. Then he bends down and starts picking up the shattered ribs. If they ask him about Vega, he will pause. "She is the new High Commander of the Spitalians in Rennes. Her predecessor Ruytman hanged himself in the summer," he says laconically. "I’ve no idea what power games the Spitalians are playing amongst themselves, but I don’t think they want to harm us. I’m sure they had their reasons why they couldn’t help Vicarent." He wipes the sweat from his brow and tightens his headband. "They fought at our side in Bassham. Without them, we would not have been able to storm the Ziggurath." The master of the chapel loses himself in the memories of his youth. Suddenly, he looks at the characters as if he has had an idea. "You know what? Come to the Flask tonight! Every year, the Sublime goes there when the first day of the festivities comes to its close. His mood at the table is much better than what you just witnessed here. I invite you to be my guests." If the characters reject, he will insist. "Please, do not be too quick to judge. Vicarent is a good man. The anger is in his blood, but he does not truly wish ill upon anyone. He misses his brother, and the past is closing in on him." If the characters ask who Vicarent's brother is and what happened to him, Tronte will nod compassionately. "Barringer. He has been stationed at another front for ages." THE DISTANT BROTHER Why doesn’t anybody talk about Vicarent's brother? Who is he? Where is he? Wouldn’t he be in Brest for the Day of Ganaress? Is he also Oppolus’ foster son? Tronte's tale sounds as if something has kept the brothers apart. What was the master of the chapel talking about when he mentioned another front? Is it the same front where Halvert and the other Anabaptists are stationed? Is he talking about Ushant? IRASCIBILITY Vicarent's outburst is difficult to understand. What is the Sublime motivated by, and where does the choleric hatred of the Spitalians come from? A roll on INS+Empathy (3) clearly reveals that his nerves are raw and something is causing his patience to wear thin. Vicarent is Briton's most powerful man, but his demeanor is reckless and brutal. The characters can only guess as to what the reasons are.
SCENE 10: EVENING HOURS The twilight of an ash-colored evening settles in. The festivities have already moved from Unir to L'Arc and the small side streets and alleys between the inns are packed. The characters must push past revelers on every side. The sleepless night is getting to them. Their eyes are burning, and their weariness impairs their perception. The characters are here to meet Soufiane, who went out alone to gather more information about Shamash. They find the lanky Leopard smoking on the street corner that they designated as their rendezvous point. When he sees the characters, he takes them to a terrace that overlooks the rooftops of L'Arc and the bay. I. CONCRETION "I have something!" he begins without a moment’s hesitation. "Over in the Tusk, there are three birds without a nest, do you follow me?" He checks to see if the group has understood. "Apocalyptics! They’re stranded here without a flock to protect them. That’s why they’re keeping their heads down and trying not to attract attention. Just pulling off small capers and running errands." His voice grows hoarse. "They know Shamash! They know where he lives. The Neolibyan has been in town for a year already. He pays the birds to procure things for him and listen around for mention of a disc and a star. In Saint-Brieuc, they buy printed circuit boards, navigational charts, gauges and all kinds of nautical equipment for him." Soufiane turns to surveil the area. He wants to make sure that they are alone. "It sounds to me like he wants to go to Britain." He pauses and lights a tobacco leaf. "Best of all," he says, smirking, "the Neolibyan has a Paler as his bodyguard." Wide-eyed, he watches the reactions on the faces of the characters. If the characters ask how reliable Soufiane's informants are, he will reassure them of their credibility at once. "They want to get out of Briton as soon as possible. I have promised to bring them to Lisbon if their story holds true." With a casual gesture, he knocks the ashes off of the tip of the tobacco leaf and whispers: “There’s still more! I convinced them to break into Shamash's camp and steal everything that might be of help to us. In return, I have equipped them with a few assault rifles and ammo. They will act at dawn." If the characters object to his tactics, Soufiane will raise his hands reassuringly. "Calm down! Have you already forgotten? Yesterday the fucking soup kitchen blew up around our ears! The Paler almost caught us! The fact that he’s working with the Neolibyan can’t mean anything good. We need to expose Shamash's plans before his guard dog strikes again." If the characters are still not convinced, Soufiane will gesture irritably at them with the backs of his hand. "With or without you. I don’t care! If you’d rather wait like sitting ducks for him to kill you, go ahead! Six o'clock in the morning at the Tusk. That’s where we’re meeting. Ask Lavender, the tattoo artist, about the lodging of the three swallows." He throws the smoked tobacco leaf on the ground and grinds the butt under his heel. "You have one night to sleep on it," he says before heading off to the harbor. GROUNDS FOR SUSPICION Soufiane's impetuous temperament leaves a bad taste in the characters’ mouth. The Neolibyan’s involvement with the Paler cannot be good for the characters. It is obvious Shamash is playing a double game with them. Was the Paler going after the artifacts on his behalf? How did the Paler know that the artifacts were in their possession? They had met the Neolibyan just a few hours earlier at the auction at Brotherhood Square. Was the Paler already pursuing them and simply waiting for the right moment to attack? Can he somehow locate the artifacts? A roll on INT+Artifact Lore (2) will provide them with a shocking insight: If the Paler can locate the artifacts, then they have just been lambs to the slaughter who are at his mercy. NO DEAL Soufiane does not tell the characters where the Neolibyan is residing and insists on meeting them at the Tusk. He does not want to be shortchanged and left out at the crucial moment. The Leopard makes it clear that the only reason they have a lead is thanks to his good nose. He expects to be given his share, whatever it may be. The characters should at least have the decency to involve him in the business if he is going to supply them with weapons and ammunition.
II. THE INVITATION If the characters stay in the open amongst other people, they will be safe for now. How - ever, they have no idea when and where the Paler will strike next. They are currently in L'Arc. If they want to accept Tronte's invitation, they have to go to the Flask. In an inn full of Orgiastics and seasoned veterans, the chances of being struck down by a sniper are much lower. Maybe the master of the chapel knows something that could help them. The road heading east will take them to the Flask. Their one-legged host is already at the door, talking to his chapel guards. TALK OF THE TOWN Meanwhile, the story of the of the characters' moral intervention earlier that morning has made its round amongst the guards. The veterans greet the group, and Tronte in - troduces them. "Yasen's contenders look like they can handle a few glasses of distillate," the master of the chapel jokes encouragingly. The characters are led into the Flask and seat themselves at the table designated for regulars. Tronte has brought Vicarent's bid - enhander with him. Delectable food is passed around and the scent is so irresistible that it makes the characters' mouths water. The Anabaptists eat, drink and celebrate the twelfth anniversary of their triumphant victory against Ganaress. The atmosphere is charged and there is a boisterous mood in the air. Chapel guard after chapel guard toasts the characters. Tronte leans over to them to make sure they have everything they need. If they ask for Vicarent, he will assure them that the Sublime will come. "He'll turn up," he says. The taproom is packed with guests and the characters are the topic of conversation all throughout the bar. A volley of laughter breaks out at the next table. The Orgiastics imitate Yasen and retell the scene at the Blood Pit with a generous amount of grunting. The men burst with laughter. Their heads are flushed, and they almost choke on their last bite of dinner. Nobody among those present seems to show the least bit of compas - sion for the Emissary. All of a sudden, clapping can be heard. The applause lasts for a painfully long time, but it is not directed at anyone in particular. It sounds like someone is slapping a table - top with the palm of their hand over and over again. In the back of the Flask, the guests no longer make a sound. Slowly, the silence spreads throughout the room, and more and more Anabaptists crane their necks to see where the clapping is coming from. III. HUMILIATION The mirthful laughter in the inn has died down. All eyes turn to the man whose thun - derous clapping rang out from the dark corner of the room. A scarred face rises from out of the shadows. The stranger dons an armored black and white uniform and a red cape. Grinning, he strides through the taproom. The planks creak under the weight of his boots and his Spitalian medal clinks against his chest. Dead silence. Everyone tries to place the stranger. The characters, however, recognize him right away. Bascule. "I bow before the glory of the Anabaptists," he announces scornfully. "What do you want, Spitalian?" an Orgiastic barks from one of the richly laid tables. The Preservist raises his eyebrows, turns to the Orgiastic and walks leisurely up to him. He looks at the roast on the table, pulls off a rib and stuffs the meat into his mouth. A row of iron teeth shimmers. "I want to be like Vicarent," he mumbles and smacks. "So brave, so sublime." Con - tempt resonates in his voice. "You dare to drag the name of the Sublime through the dirt?" a young Orgiastic at the counter rumbles. The Preservist turns to the young man, cocks his scarred head and chews with his mouth open, his eyes fixed in his direction. The behavior of the Spitalian is pure provocation. "If only we had more men like Vicarent, humanity would have nothing to fear! BLACK ATLANTIC 189
With one blow, all of the Pheromancers would be gone!" he says with a big grin on his lips, baring his iron set of teeth. He makes sure to leave no doubt as to whether or not he believes the legend surrounding Vicarent's triumph. Some Anabaptists grab the hilts of their swords and daggers. Several rise from their benches and surround the Spitalian threateningly. "You miserable Preservist, shut your iron jaw before I solder your teeth together," one of the veterans spits out. The Preservist chuckles. Not a sign of distress. On the contrary, everything he does is an attempt to escalate the situation. "Come on, you milksop. Show me how you are going to make me shut up!" he calls provocatively to the veteran. "Enough!" a thunderous voice sharply interrupts the spectacle. Vicarent has arrived. Wrapped in a heavy cloak of skins, the armored giant marches between the Anabaptists, pushing the men aside. He is a head taller than the rest of them. "Why are you looking for a fight in my house, Spitalian?" he asks. "At last, I can face the Sublime," Bascule says dismissively, eyeing his opponent from head to toe. "Vicarent, you really do look splendid. I’m almost inclined to believe that you actually are capable of moving mountains!" Every syllable uttered from the Spitalian’s mouth is pure cynicism. He’s clearly taunting the Sublime. Vicarent's face is frozen. His eyes are fixated on his opponent. Not once, do they blink. "Tell me, Sublime, how did you do it? How did you slay Ganaress? One man, winning single-handedly against a Pheromancer King?" The Spitalian once more bites off a piece of meat from the roast and devours it with a chuckle. Vicarent is silent. His jaw is set and his charred nostrils quiver. "You are not in Rennes, Spitalian. Brest is not the territory for your displays of arrogance." Vicarent's words are as clear as the day is long. He emphasizes them further by stepping forward towards Bascule. The Spitalian is unimpressed. "I have battled Psychokinetics and Pheromancers and survived. I know all of their weaknesses," he says before pausing dramatically. "I, however, do not know anybody on Earth who can kill a Pheromancer King. What is your secret, Sublime?" Vicarent grimaces. He cannot believe that the man is challenging him, much less in such a manner. "Have you lost your mind, Spitalian? Spewing such rubbish. What's to keep me from tearing you apart?" Vicarent unties the loop holding his cloak together. The heavy fur falls to the ground. The grin of the Spitalian turns into an icy grimace. He lunges towards Vicarent. "A harlot from Bergamo controls the Eden route. The troops of your Cult on the Adriatic are cut off from their supply lines and slowly bleeding to death. It’s the Spitalians that are keeping your men together. You’re completely dependent on us in Pollen." The Preservist spits in disgust. "Come on, tear me to pieces! Try it! I want to see what cloth the Slayer of Ganaress is cut from." Bascule reaches out. A tiny black marble balances on his fingertips. The Preservist drops it. LIGHTS OUT! Everything goes black. The characters can’t see anything. Their senses are useless. The beat of their hearts throbs loudly in their ears. It’s deafening. All other sounds seem far away. The temperature drops and they begin to shiver. Something is holding them, attacking them. They hear the sound of tables falling over. They don’t know where they are anymore. They collide into other bodies. With every step they either fall or float. Their equilibrium has been knocked off kilter. The air is as wet as water and it floods into their lungs. Are they drowning? What’s happening here? Every thought rumbles like cannon fire. They stumble, pick themselves up, and try to hold on to nearby objects. The floor is slick and there are faint moans. How long have they been in here — has it been an hour? A day? Dark blue stars twinkle in front of their eyes. They dangle from an endless umbilical cord connected to the abyss of a starless universe. There is nothing around them. No light. No purgatory. No God. RIFT If the characters battled Barghest during IN THY BLOOD, they will be able to identify the oppressive darkness that has engulfed them. It is clearly the Rift of a Psychokinetic. But how did these supernatural powers get into the hands of a Preservist? Even fully spore-afflicted Leperos cannot use Phenomena. What was that little black orb balancing on his fingertips? SUICIDAL Has Bascule lost his mind? Why has he gone to such lengths to provoke the Anabaptists? He will not survive a fight against two hundred men. Does he have a death wish or is it all a part of some bigger plan? INS+Empathy (3) reveals that the Preservist is keenly aware of what he is doing and this is all a part of something he is plotting. A roll on PSY+Reaction (3) allows the characters to get out of the danger zone in time.
LIGHTS ON! Everything is over. The characters' eyes have to adjust to the returning light. The Flask is in shambles. Fallen tables and broken chairs are everywhere. The feast is scattered all over the ground. Anabaptists pick themselves up from the floor. "Demiurge!" an Orgiastic beside them gasps. "The Sublime!" someone shouts from the left. Vicarent crawls from out of the wreckage of tables and chairs. A cut has disfigured his cheek. Fresh blood spills from his throat, turning his collar red. Orgiastics try to help him, but he brushes them aside. "Let go of me!" he yells like a raging animal. "Sublime, we will come together and we will find the Spitalian," a chapel guard calls and storms to the door. Vicarent picks up a chair and hurls it across the room, the wood shattering like a toy. "No," Vicarent clamors. He grabs his bidenhander and climbs across the tables, heading toward the exit. "Fix the inn and go to your posts. The walrus hunt starts tomorrow." He turns to his men with a disdainful look. "Today is the Day of Ganaress. The Preservist is mine!" UNCERTAINTY The Orgiastics are anxious. What is Vicarent intending to do? Who was the Preservist and why does he act with such hubris? Tronte recommends the characters look for a quiet place to stay while he and his men try to put the Flask back together. No one knows what sinister magic the Preservist has summoned forth. Some are convinced that it was a Rift, but how can a human being have the Phenomena of the Demiurge at his command? FALSE PRIDE Bascule's attack in the Flask makes no sense. Did the Preservist come to humiliate the Sublime before an audience of his followers in order to lure him out of his false sense of security? What kind of outcome does he think will result from his course of action? The chapel guards will turn the whole city upside down in order to find the Preservist. Vicarent's pride seems to be his fatal flaw and Bascule has rubbed a handful of salt on the open wound. Does the Preservist know something about Vicarent's victory that the Sublime is hiding from his people? Could it possibly be connected to the Starfire that the Spitalians were talking about? BLACK ATLANTIC 191
SCENE 11: BACK TO THE ISLAND A miller ferries the characters across the Penfeld in exchange for a small fee. Almost an hour has passed since the incident in the Flask. The events of the day remain inexplicable. The dangers pile up and the secrets remain difficult to decipher. Brest is under assault by foreign powers, and the characters are caught up in a maelstrom that could spell their doom. I. NEWS The characters have just unlocked the large sliding door, when all of sudden Ampere comes running towards them. "She's a fucking Delila! You have brought a whore of deception into this house!" Furiously, he points at Eris, who is crouching in a salvaged turbine at the other end of the hall with her knees drawn to her chest. "I subjected her to a polygraph test. She hasn’t given one single truthful response the entire day." He shows the characters his portable polygraph machine and points at the different percentages on the display. "Here, see for yourself. Nothing adds up!" The characters start to get a picture of the situation. Imbali has left the island and returned to the Balsam House. Soufiane is no longer there either. The Mice have brought Garlene into the house on top of the stilts to look after her. Parel has been taking care of the Scrapper all day and has not left her side once. Ampere and Eris are alone with the characters. If they inform Ampere about the events of the day, he will listen attentively and then lower his tone so as to make sure the Jehammedan can’t hear anything. If they tell him what Soufiane found out, he can hardly believe his ears. "Did you say there’s a Neolibyan who’s using a Paler as an attack dog? Is Soufiane certain?" the Chronicler asks. If the characters try to assure him that the story hasn’t been fabricated, Ampere will broodingly run his fingers through his hair. "Why would a Neolibyan be interested in Jehammed's Will?" he mumbles. "Maybe the Paler put him up to it." If they tell him about their encounters with both the Spitalians and the Anabaptists, the Chronicler will moan to himself, "Both Cults need each other. If this turns into a military conflict, it will spread to Borca and Purgare." THE RIGHT QUESTIONS If the characters decide to approach the Jehammedan, they will find her huddled on the floor. She has taken off her shoes and rests her head on her knees. She looks at her toes in silence. If the characters ask her why she lied to Ampere, she will smile inwardly. "Because he did not ask the right questions," she answers without looking the characters in the eye. "You see?" the Chronicler shouts indignantly as his mistrust is confirmed. "Why do we allow her to stay here? There are already too many people who know too much," he protests. "Because you need me," Eris winks. If the characters ask her why she is so sure, she will raise her head for the first time since their arrival. "Because I know secrets about things that no one else outside of my Cult has ever seen." Ampere groans and rolls his eyes. "Secrets of the Jehammedans? What might that be? Do you want to let us in on how to slaughter a lamb according to your religious beliefs?" he sneers. "What's the name of the artifact you're looking for?" she asks quietly. "Jehammed's Will. So what? That's just a name!" Ampere tries to belittle her. "What about Aries? Is that also another random name in your world of superstitions?" she retorts. Ampere uneasily rubs his hands together. He has no answer to offer her. The Jehammedan guffaws. DELILA If the characters have had contact with Jehammedans in the past, they may roll INT+Legends (2). Women branded Delilas are lepers and outcasts of their tribe. The community of their Cult is forever denied to them. Their crimes are punished with either loss of life or loss of freedom. Those whose fate is the latter are sold to Apocalyptics. The reason for their exile is hardly ever known. Sometimes it's disloyalty, sometimes disgraceful behavior. Few women who have been expelled from their tribe survive. Distrust follows them wherever they go. The scarlet letter of their deceit stays with them until they die.
BLACK ATLANTIC 193 THE SCROLL Eris reaches into her robe and digs around. She pulls out a piece of parchment that been folded a dozen times. "I promised you knowledge if you agreed to save me," she tells the characters, holding out the small folded honey-brown piece of sheepskin. "I've deciphered the puzzle and, as a result, been cast out of my tribe. What I know is true, true beyond the shadow of a doubt. A truth so undeniable that my shepherd wanted to kill me for it." It takes a while to unfold the brittle piece of parchment. It contains 22 symbols. Each character is painstakingly labeled with a name in Hybrispanian script. At first glance, the text is unintelligible. Ampere stands next to them. His mouth hangs wide open as his eyes wander over the symbols in disbelief. "A Stream code," he says, his voice trembling. THE STREAM CODE Ampere falls onto a bench. He is short of breath. When the characters try to make sense of his words, he swallows and takes another look at the folded scroll. "How old is this parchment?" he croaks. "It has always been in our tribe’s possession," Eris says calmly. Ampere shakes his head. "That’s impossible!" If the characters try to convince the addled Chronicler to tell them about his theories, he will pull himself together and begin to explain. "A hundred years ago, in the founding days of Justitian and when the Central Cluster was on the rise, the static Stream continuously spat out the same combination of symbols. It was the result of a long process. The databases were fed with information detailing the personalities of the residents of Justitian. Their behavior, preferences, outbursts, inclinations and urges were cataloged," Ampere describes excitedly. "From the existing data sets, we obtained a nationwide network of all existing personality patterns in the population of Justitian. The static Stream reproduced the same series of 22 symbols. It was multiplied a million times and covered all existing citizen databases. Every single person could be assigned to one of these signs." The Chronicler reaches for a glass of water and gulps it down. "The Apocalyptics used the same characters on their tarot deck. All Major Arcana resembled the Stream code to a T," he says frantically. "We are all descended from the same doctrine," Eris interrupts. "Yesterday, today, and tomorrow. It's all the same. Predestined and immutable." Ampere hurls his glass of water out into the hall and jumps to his feet. A gasp of desperation escapes him, and he makes his way to his bed. It is late. Too late for forming more theories. After 48 hours, the characters can barely keep their eyes open. They must sleep in order to regain their strength. II. THE HAUNTING The character with the highest Primal score wakes up with a dry, scratchy throat. The world around him is dark and the high ceiling in the room arches above him like a steely firmament. His thirst is overwhelming. An incomprehensible moaning pounds within his mind. If the character wants to straighten up, he cannot muster the strength. He is paralyzed. He cannot even clench his fist, let alone get up. He sees movement from the corner of his eye, but even a simple turn of the head to see what is going on requires immeasurable strength. Rivers of sweat drip down his forehead. The picture is becoming clearer. A great ram, half human, half animal, has buried Eris under his weight. He relentlessly pushes his hips against the screaming Jehammedan, skewering her on his penis. His fleece is steaming from the heat of his wrath. The woman screams as if she's being torn in two. The ram does not let up, penetrating her deeper and deeper. The character cannot help her; his body is leaden. The beast is ruthless. Its yellow teeth sink into Eris's cheek. Blood flows from where the ram has punctured the skin. Layer after layer, the ram gnaws off the woman’s face. It devours morsels of her flesh, tugs at sinews and muscle fibers and licks out her eye sockets until nothing is left but her bare skull. INTIMATE Play the following scenes, "The Haunting" and "Not a Dream", with one player absent from the table or during a break. For the story to proceed, it is important that only one of your players is versed in the revelations. If more players are familiar with them, it will diminish the experience. The hints emerging from the scenes will help your player elsewhere, but until then, the chosen player must process this new information alone. T H E A P O C A LY P T I C TAROT All of this cannot be mere coincidence. Apocalyptic characters immediately recognize the symbols on the scroll. They are identical to those of the Major Arcana, which the flocks have been using for over 500 years. Are they all just victims of a memetic indoctrination program? How can the teachings of the Jehammedans and the Apocalyptics, two vastly different Cults, overlap? How can it be that the Chroniclers also know what the symbols are and that they found them in a digital computation?
NOT A DREAM The character awakens again. He feels the heat of another body on his. Eris is on top of him. Before he can react, she thrusts her tongue into his mouth. She presses her naked body against him. Her thighs clasp his hips like a vise. She rubs her body against him and digs her fingers into his scalp. She kisses him in a frenzy. Saliva drips from her mouth like water. "Fuck me," she pants. Her hands tug at his clothes, trying to undress him. Her short hair is wild like straw. Her body glows as if in a fever and she breathes greedily. She spits in the palm of her hand and rubs the character's cock, preparing him for penetration. Eris trembles. Her nipples are hard. Beads of perspiration trickle down her skin, creating furrows in her dirt-covered body. She stinks of musty sweat and semen. Eris is in a trance. She leads the character's cock between her thighs, burying it in her lap. Her knees are shaking. Her hips gyrate. All of her movements are pure lust. She bites his lip, licking up the saliva that has collected on the corners of his mouth. Panting, she sucks his tongue. Her buttocks slap rhythmically. Her moans are feral. She wants it all. She looks possessed. Her fiendish eyes search for the character's. Their eyes finally meet. "Who is the judge of humanity? Who leads the scions from afar and sows his seed in their minds?" she asks as she climaxes. "Aries." III. THE RECKONING A scream rouses everyone from their sleep. Poli comes running out of the stilt house with a lit torch. Parel follows closely behind with his flickering flashlight. There is no time to ask questions. "What the hell was that?" the Salt Wolf yells excitedly. The characters have no idea. However, a look around the room reveals the answer. Ampere is gone. Where is that damn Chronicler? They have to find him. The other Mice wake up as Poli runs to the sliding gate. "What's going on?" Eris puts on her robe, also unaware of what has just happened. There is a second scream. "Damn! That came from the junkyard on the other side of the island," Parel exclaims frantically and runs off. The characters can follow him if they choose. If so, Eris will, in turn, follow them. Poli grabs an iron bar while running to arm himself. The group runs down to the bridge that leads to the junkyard on the island. Soufiane runs towards them, his face full of horror. "The Paler!" he gasps breathlessly. "He’s taken Ampere hostage and holed himself up in the transformer station. Don’t let him get away! I'll get rifles and ammunition." He rushes off in the other direction. Meanwhile, the characters reach a junkyard flanked by tool sheds. The transformer station that converts and distributes the current arriving from Morlaix rises at the opposite end. The overhead power lines crackle eerily. "He must be in the switch house!" Parel growls and points to the building in front of them. Crimson lights blink through the darkness of the junkyard, and the characters are able to make out the outlines of the front building. However, they are unfamiliar with the entire area. A roll on INS+Survival (2) reveals that they cannot storm the switch house head-on; otherwise, they would put be putting themselves in a clear line of fire. An accomplished shooter could easily mow them down. They must fight their way through the tool sheds in order to get to the transformer station safely. Their lights are too risky and would give them away instantly. INS+Perception (3) is needed to navigate in the dark, AGI+Stealth (2) to hide behind the mountains of unsorted scrap, and AGI+Mobility (2) to move along safely. Eris picks up a metal pipe with a sharpened point at its end, arming herself as well. "Do you see the Paler?" Parel whispers to the characters. They need a successful roll on INS+Perception (4) in order to see anything. Through a gap in a wooden wall they detect movement inside the transformer station. "What should we do?" Poli asks tensely. Why is it taking Soufiane so long to bring the rifles?
BLACK ATLANTIC 195 STORMING The characters need a battle plan. Their vision is limited, and if they are not careful, they’ll put Ampere's life at risk. They can try to make their way from the roofs of the tool sheds to the top of the switch house. Another possibility would be for them sprint to one of the observation towers and take position there. Ask your players to plan out their attack. If the characters try to contact the Paler, they will not get an answer. Where is that rat? If a character decides to scale to a higher vantage point and use binoculars or the sight on their ranged weapon, they must make a roll on INS+Perception (3). From there, the character is able to see Ampere. The Chronicler is bleeding from an abdomen wound. He is bound and gagged and the Paler is nowhere to be seen. What's going on? The characters may agree to fight their way to Ampere. If they decide to fire indiscriminately into the transformer station, no one will return their fire. Has the Paler laid a trap for them? What is he waiting for? Ampere raises his eyes as he spies the characters in the shadows. He tries to shout, but the gag acts as a muffle. He breathes frantically, shaking his head as if to warn the characters. Parel and Poli sneak around to the left. Eris is with the characters. They must roll INS+Survival (3) successfully to detect any tripwires in time. But there is nothing. No traps. Ampere squirms as he tries to sit up. Blood runs down from his nose and he snorts angrily. Maybe the Paler has taken up position as a sniper, and they are marching straight into his crosshairs? The characters can try to protect themselves with metal sheets and plates. They edge forward, hiding behind their portable cover. Only two more steps. Nothing happens. There is no grenade, no barrage of bullets. A quick flick of the wrist undoes the gag. "The Leopard!" Ampere moans. INITIATIVE Encourage the players to take the initiative in this scene by properly planning the storming of the switch house. It is a matter of life and death, and they are up against a powerful opponent. The Paler has already gotten hold of them once, and they barely got away unscathed. If they let panic get the best of them while trying to recover Ampere, they will find themselves faced with potential annihilation. Even if the characters outnumber the Paler, he still has a significant advantage in the dark. Not to mention, their ally is in his hands.
BETRAYED "Soufiane!" the Chronicler coughs. "He attacked me!" his voice cracks. "The star! The disc!" Parel cuts through Ampere’s shackles. He stumbles forward, holding his stomach. "He lured you away so he could steal the artifacts!" Another scream echoes across the island. This time, it comes from the direction of the warehouse. The group runs across the junkyard and back to the bridge. They hear the sounds of an engine. Soufiane's launch is heading out onto the water. Monia comes running towards them screaming. Panic-stricken and wide-eyed, she falls to her knees in the mud. "He has Weilam! He said he’ll shoot him if we try to follow him!" she bitterly sobs. "No! No! No!" Parel mumbles, banging his fists against the bridge pier. "He’s been spying on us all this time," Ampere concludes. "He tricked you into coming to the soup kitchen. He lied to the Chapel Guard, telling them the story about Spitfire tanks exploding. He showed you the footprint in the alley. The Leopard is working with Shamash," he says cynically, "and now he has our artifacts." "Fuck the damn artifacts! He has Weilam, you heartless robot!" Parel is beside himself. He punches Ampere, sending the wounded Chronicler to the ground. "What in the hell have you brought into my life?" the Scrapper yells at the characters accusingly. He grabs Monia by the arm and pulls her towards the warehouse. BITTER TRUTH Ampere is right. The Leopard has duped them. They do not know how long he has been working for Shamash; however, it is clear that he has been following them from the beginning. It will be impossible for them to catch up to the launch. At the jetties, there are only pontoons, and Parel's diving gondola Fiancé is on the dry dock of the island. Who can they confide in? Who would be able to help them in a situation like this? Time is of the essence. The characters must make a decision quickly.
BLACK ATLANTIC 197 PERSECUTION The characters have to take care of Ampere and patch up his wound. The cut is not particularly deep and no internal organs have been damaged. Still, the Chronicler is depending on their help. Eris assists them and looks after Ampere. Weilam’s kidnapping leaves the Mice shaken. Parel gets himself ready. Wherever the characters go, he will follow them. He wants to settle the score with Soufiane. He orders the Mice to wait on the island, making sure not to let Garlene, who is still in a coma, out of their sight. SCENE 12: THREE SWALLOWS In the Tusk. Lavender dozes off in a chair behind a counter in the foyer. If the characters shake the man awake, he will wince and then straighten his leather cap. "Why are you disturbing me at this hour, you idiots?" His mood is shitty. If the characters ask for the three Swallows, he will sniff sullenly. "What do you want from them? They are decent guys. Good guests." If the characters explain that they made plans to meet them here, he will scratch his beard, still half asleep. "Third floor, sixth room. Just don’t make any trouble, or I’ll call the chapel guards on you!" he warns them tersely. He pulls down his cap and a moment later, he’s snoring again. The Tusk lies in a hushed silence. The majority of the guests are sleeping off the previous day. Every step the characters take up the wooden stairs creaks all too loudly. If they stop to listen at the sixth door, they won’t hear any noise coming from within. "Maybe they're still sleeping?" Parel mumbles, and then examines the lock more closely. "I can crack that." With three quick movements, he picks the lock. The characters cautiously open the door. Warm, stale air greets them and the scent of chicken broth lingers in the room. The blinds are drawn. It’s dark and not a sound can be heard. If they cross the short corridor and enter the sleeping quarters, they will stumble upon the remains of a grotesque battlefield. Three men lay dead on the beds, their faces melted and disfigured beyond recognition. Their flesh hangs in strips where there cheeks once were, as if someone has scalded them with boiling water. Here and there, the muscle fibers have been cleanly peeled away, and their bare bones emerge. "What happened to them?" Parel asks cautiously as he runs his flashlight across the faces of the deceased. If the characters want to search for clues, a successful Combination on INT+ Science (2) and PSY+Cunning (1) is necessary. Hot water could not have inflicted such wounds. Furthermore, the beds are dry. In order to disfigure a person like this, it would require several minutes of dousing them with boiling liquid. Not to mention, the screams of agony that would accompany such an act of torture would have surely awakened the whole inn. The corpses show no other traces of bodily harm. No shots or puncture wounds. Quite the opposite, the whole thing must have happened rather fast. The three Swallows didn’t have a chance to react. Something must have surprised them in their sleep. What weapon could exact such cruel wounds? If the characters want to continue exploring, Parel will go back to the door in order to keep an eye on the hallway. Upon forcing open the desk drawer, the characters find 3.000 bundled Drafts. Below them is a piece of paper with some notes scribbled on it. They read like a grocery list. Next to the goods, there are markets all over Briton that supposedly have the items in stock. Contact details of Scrappers from Saint-Brieuc and merchants from Rennes are also noted. The murder does not look like a robbery. Nothing in the room seems to be damaged. It looks more like an act of revenge. Or maybe someone wanted to cover their tracks and get rid of witnesses. The backpacks of the Apocalyptics are open. If the characters browse through the contents, they discover a box of rolled tobacco leafs similar to the ones that Soufiane smokes. They also find another notebook. It contains the name of Reuters, the postrider who takes care of errands in the city. A neat list of dates from 2597 starting from October and going back to January is included as well. A roll on PSY+Cunning (2) is necessary to make the connection. It looks as if the three Swallows hired the postrider to deliver goods when they were running errands for Shamash. This must mean that the postrider knows where Shamash is. CORPSES If the characters try to leave immediately, Parel will stop them. "What about the bodies? If Lavender finds them, he will think it was us. We have to wake him up or call in the Chapel Guard," the Salt Wolf says prudently. The characters must come up with a solution and act fast; otherwise, they will become a target of the investigation themselves. CLUES Going over the clues that they have, they realize that if they want to find Soufiane, they are going to have to track down the three Apocalyptics in the Tusk. They have agreed to meet at six o'clock in the morning. The characters have less than an hour. What awaits them there? Another trap? They must be prepared for the worst. DISTRACTION TACTICS Has someone fabricated the story of the three Swallows in order to lure the characters into another trap? Was the operation canceled after Soufiane had successfully stolen the artifacts? Why did someone find it necessary to execute the Apocalyptics? Did they know too much? The characters are caught in a web of intrigue. Does the fate of the three Swallows await them as well?
I. THE POSTRIDER Parel knows the postrider. "Reuters has his stable in Unir, near Brotherhood Square." The characters must track the man down before he starts his shift. They run. A dense bank of fog engulfs Brest in its morning hour. The gray haze floods the streets, blurring the contours of the city. Without stopping, they hotfoot it to Unir. Parel's stamina fails him as his age catches up to him. They reach the stable of the rider, panting for breath. A man with a flat flax cap and a heavy bag around his neck is leading a horse out onto the pavement. "Reuters!" Parel manages to shout with his last breath before a coughing spell brings him to his knees. The characters must take over the dialogue while the Salt Wolf catches his breath. "Should I deliver something? Twenty Drafts per courier ride within the city limits, two hundred for deliveries to Rennes," the postrider says indifferently and holds out his hand. If the characters ask the man if he has ever delivered goods for the Apocalyptics at the Tusk, Reuters will look at them as if they have lost their mind. "Ever heard of confidentiality?" he asks indignantly and saddles up. "Reuters, please!" Parel can hardly breathe. The characters have to stop the postrider from leaving; otherwise, they will not get any further. A successful roll on CHA+Expression (3) or PSY+Domination (3) is necessary to either appeal to his sense of reason or employ intimidation tactics. "Yes, I have provided courier services for the Swallows. So what?" he says irritably, trying to get his horse to move. They must grab the bridle if they want to keep him from leaving. "It's none of my business what people send!" he says, his mood turning sour. If they ask Reuters if he knows a Neolibyan, he’ll grunt from his horse: "What do you want from the man? He pays good money for my services." If the characters try to persuade him to reveal where Shamash is staying, the postrider will refuse stubbornly. "Please, Reuters!" Parel can hardly breathe. "The Neolibyan is out to get the King. He is planning on murdering Oppolus. He’s going to do it tomorrow during the ceremony on the Field of Victors!" the Salt Wolf pleads, resorting to an outright lie. "We are the only ones who can stop him, and if you help us, you’ll be crowned a hero!" Reuters looks stunned. He seems to take to the idea rather quickly. The postrider dismounts and unfolds his city map. "We're here," he taps the spot. "The Neolibyan has his quarters there, beyond the furrier’s district in the eastern foothills of L'Arc." He spreads his fingers and measures the approximate distance. "You'll make it there in half an hour. Fifteen minutes if you run." Parel rolls his eyes and takes off, his chest rattling. II. THE DWELLING They reach Shamash's alleged residence shortly after seven o'clock. Parel is exhausted and struggles to keep up in the final meters before they arrive. His hands clench his chest, and he gasps as if at any moment he could suffer from circulatory collapse. The roadstead offers the characters a good view of the isolated house. Upon circling it, they do not see any movement. The windows are boarded up save for one upstairs, and the walls are covered in sheets of corrugated metal. The characters must climb onto the roof of an adjacent shed if they want to peek inside. The air is pure. No fishermen are going about their work here. All of Brest has stopped working during the holidays, losing themselves instead in sleep. "Go. I’ll keep an eye out. If anything moves, I'll scream fire," Parel pants in a strained voice. The characters run across the street. With BOD+Athletics (2) they make it onto the roof. With AGI+Stealth (2), they can do so without being noticed. If they look inside the house, they do not detect any movement in the darkness. They are only able to discern
that the house probably consists of a main room spanning two stories with a gallery on its upper floor. If they pry open the window, they can reach the gallery. BASE OF OPERATIONS Inside, dust drifts to the floor. The gallery is covered in perforated metal. A metallic sound echoes with each step the characters take. From up here, they can see the lower room in its entirety. Nothing but empty beds and leftovers. There is nobody here. A single ladder leads down a steep incline. Worktables line the walls on the ground floor. It looks like the alcove of a Chronicler. Nothing here is remotely reminiscent of the dwelling of a Neolibyan. No luxury, no bling. Instead, gauges flash and strange antennas whirr. On a green screen, a flickering line rotates clockwise over a grid. Radar? A rattling power module feeds a cable duct that has been wound up to a spotlight on the ceiling. The characters can turn on the light and look around. The spotlight illuminates the room, revealing meter-high walls completely covered in measurement data and nautical charts. If the characters try to make sense of the images, a Combination of INT+Artifact Lore (4) and INT+Science (3) must succeed in order to determine the significance of the information. A series of measurements shows data for annual temperature averages. The curve ascends, hitting its highest point in the summer of 2597. A nautical chart next to it provides information on ocean currents in the Celtic Sea and in the Atlantic. Arrows indicate flow directions. A large map depicts the entire west flank of Franka including Britain and Gaelic. About sixty or seventy miles from the coast of Briton, in the middle of the ocean, a nail juts out from the wall marking a point northwest of Brest. Three straight red lines of thread connect it to three other locations that have also been marked with nails on the map. Aquitaine. Bath. London. Next to each city, someone has scribbled coordinates on the map. Was Shamash trying to locate something in the ocean? If so, what are the temperature ranges and flow analyses for? There are no definite answers. On a small slate, dates have been noted. 2579, 2588, and 2597. Each of them is followed by the same mathematical formula, the individual numbers of each year producing the same sum. 1616. It is the code that Ampere was talking about. The characters may continue to look around. Laying on a table is the strange spear Shamash showed them. Next to it is the stone spearhead. It has been split in half. On the inside of the stone is a meticulously engraved furrow that is an exact copy of the shape of the outer engraving. A mold for the strange symbol is created by putting the two halves together. Did Shamash pour the symbol himself, or was it already in the spearhead? The characters do not know. The state of the residence suggests that Shamash has already packed up and left. Did he find what he was looking for? Why did he need the disc and the star? Did he assemble Jehammed's Will? Is the peculiar symbol from the broken spearhead the missing piece? Before they have the chance to ponder these questions any further, a shattering wail comes from the street. Parel! IN THE FOG Outside. The scream came from the roadstead. They see Parel wading knee-deep through the mist in the still waters of the bay. Something is floating towards the Scrapper. It looks like a body. The characters get closer. Parel pushes forward. His whimpers of disbelief waft across the waters. The Salt Wolf reaches for the body and pulls it close to him. His wails send shivers up their spines. It is Weilam. Parel collapses into the water and hugs the dead boy. His sobs are muffled by the fog. "Why?" The characters have reached their ally in the water. The shallow waves carry Weilam's body, his corpse floating on its surface. He was shot at close range. CLUES The base of operations is full of clues the characters must decipher. A successful Combination on INT+Artifact Lore (4) and INT+Science (3) yields information. SUCCESS, NO TRIGGER: The nautical gauges leave no doubt in the characters’ minds. Shamash is aiming for something that is directly linked to the three locations on the map. 1 TRIGGER: The flow charts may indicate that the object does not have a fixed position and is moving around in the Atlantic. 3+TRIGGER: Code 1616 must have some special significance. The years and temperature ranges as well. Can the object only be located at a certain time and under specific weather conditions? DISCARDED Their enemies disposed of the hostage and disappeared. Grief gnaws away at the Salt Wolf. He pulls Weilam's battered body onto a raft so he can bring him back to his island. For now, the characters must continue without the Salt Wolf. BLACK ATLANTIC 199
SCENE 13: WALRUS HUNT They return to L'Arc harbor, which has changed significantly since they were last there. Hundreds of hunters from all over Briton have gathered here. Drafts change hands as jet skis are rented, motor boats equipped and harpoons fixed. The first round is a race to the Atlantic. Whoever leaves the roadstead first can claim their prize and the title of fastest hunter. Then it is on to the cliffs and out into the sea to pursue the big bulls. If the characters want to search the roadstead for clues or chase after Soufiane's launch, they need to do so now. The Leopard has a head start of several hours, but assuming he picked up Shamash and got rid of the hostage first, he may not be too far. I. UNEXPECTED HELP Oppolus immerses himself in the crowd. The king walks in the company of his people, making his way to the harbor to take part in the hunt. While pushing through the huddled masses, the characters spot the impressive hunter. Is there a chance that he can help them? They have to get to him. When the king sees them, he orders a group of warriors to make room for the newcomers. "What a lovely morning! The view is poor. As it should be. The hunt could, otherwise, hardly be considered a challenge." He showers them with questions. "Have you recovered from the festivities? Is the young woman doing well? Are you going to hunt with us?" If the characters tell him about their recent encounters, his face will turn to stone. He immediately waves them off to the side so no one can hear. Then he questions them frantically about the events. When he hears that one of Parel's Mice has paid with his life, heavy furrows suddenly line his otherwise untroubled face. "Take a boat or some jet skis," he urges them. "I'll inform a dozen of my men. They will assist you with the search. Was it a launch, you said? Those are rather fast, but we’ll be able to catch up with them." He immediately gathers together a group of wild hunters covered in blue and yellow paint. Without wasting time on explanations, he orders them to search the bay and the Atlantic for the launch. The hunters mount their jet skis without a moment’s delay. Engine after engine revs up. Oppolus himself hurries to one of the machines and jumps onto the saddle. "Go!" he shouts to the characters and starts the engine. OUT INTO THE GRAY SEA The characters have either mounted jet skis or boarded one of the motorboats. They sweep across the roadstead into the thick fog. Behind them, hundreds of engines drone and race past them. The other hunters have not been told about the search for the launch and Oppolus' sudden departure signals the start of the walrus hunt. Fountains splash in the air, settling back down on the surface of the water as glistening curtains. The waters of the roadstead are tranquil. To keep a motorboat or jet ski at top speed without being toppled, successful rolls on AGI+Navigation (2) are required. The characters race past the cliffs of the bay. In the dense fog, approaching pinnacles are difficult to see. The piloting character must succeed in a roll on INS+Perception (3) to see them in time, thus allowing the character to circumnavigate them. If the Perception roll fails, a roll on AGI+Navigation (4) must succeed in order to avoid collision at the last moment. If the roll fails, the vehicle will crash into a pinnacle or capsize. Onwards they go. The sounds of the engines are the only thing the characters can hear. A cool wind hits them. Oppolus is somewhere ahead of them. The cliffs disapALTERNATIVES The walrus hunt is one of the highlights of the Day of Ganaress. Even though the characters may not be celebrating right now, the big hunt offers them countless opportunities to get acquainted with both the hunters and the king. As a game master, you are free to use the walrus hunt earlier in the scenario. This will allow the characters to earn the respect of the hunters, expand their network, and display their skills. The walrus hunt takes center stage over the next few days, commencing every dawn at L'Arc harbor. Throughout the day, different competitions take place ranging from races and harpoon throwing to jousts with blunt lances. Close combat with walrus bulls takes place on the islands in the Atlantic. These events offers countless ways for the characters to win allies amongst the populace.